Trap
by AnonyMiss J
Summary: Severus Snape and Hermione Granger are being kept in a cell by Lucius Malfoy. Why, and what for? You shall find out within.
1. Chapter 1

**_I will begin with a statement that will stand for the entirety of this fictional work: none of J.K. Rowling's characters belong to me._**

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Hermione Granger paced the length of their enclosure back and forth, back and forth. Her imitation patent leather mary janes tapped rhythmically against the cold, stone floor, rather like a metronome. After a time, she had begun to concentrate on the sound and on keeping it in perfect time. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four... If she didn't occupy her mind with something, she feared she'd go mad.

Perhaps she was being slightly melodramatic. After all, they'd only been down here for a few hours (their wands had been taken so they had no other way of knowing the time; curse the both of them for not bothering to wear a watch), but she wasn't in any way certain of how much longer they would have to remain, and a few hours could turn into a few days, a few months, a few years...

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...

The cell was large, perhaps the size of a decently priced flat in London. It was equipped with two old, white-sheeted double beds, an equally ancient overstuffed easy chair and matching ottoman, a small wooden table with two chairs, a rickety cupboard that they hadn't yet investigated, and a tall, brass-stemmed floor lamp, which had seemingly been included to cruelly remind the two that they weren't at liberty to use magic. There was only one door in the room, and it led to a cramped bathroom with an open shower stall and a lightly rusted toilet and sink. There was no entrance or exit, as they had been apparated into the room, and there was no portkey. They'd been promised food and water, but they hadn't received it yet. What if Malfoy had been lying, or decided to change his mind? What if he forgot about them down here? It was all she could do to prevent herself from panting with fear. She damned her lack of composure-which was made all the more obvious as _he_ sat there quietly-and quickened her pace.

One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-one-and-two-and-three-and-four...

"Miss Granger, will you stop that!" Professor Snape snapped at her, his depthless voice resonating throughout the small room. She immediately obeyed, standing uncomfortably still and blinking at him owlishly, hoping he would give her another command to follow, to concentrate upon. But he only glared at her from his seat on the easy chair, his left nostril twitching irritably. "I'm unable to think clearly with that blasted tapping."

"I'm sorry, sir," she murmured at length. Her eyes began to water, her knees quivering in their forced stillness. He sighed in exasperation and rolled his black eyes.

"Go lay on the bed and try to get some rest. It's been a long day," he said, his voice infused with sarcasm on the last sentence.

She immediately complied, her limbs shaking as she settled onto her back in the middle of the bed located closest to her professor. The sheets smelled musty, as if they were clean but had been untouched for years. She stared at the hard, grey ceiling for what felt like hours, measuring her breaths as she had measured the tapping of her shoes before. A noise sounded in his direction and she gasped, quickly turning to face him. He had shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He met her gaze and his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly. His voice when he spoke again was low, pitying.

"Go to sleep, Miss Granger."

And she did.


	2. Chapter 2

The two of them had been collecting a rare species of toadstool in the Forbidden Forest, which was one of the few places in the world where this particular strain could be found. Two days prior, Hermione had stolen the entire supply from Professor Snape's stores, and for the stupidest reason: Harry and Ron had, through Ron's brothers Fred and George, beseeched her to take them for use in the latter two's newest Wheeze. She'd gotten away with stealing other ingredients out of necessity and in her arrogance and her desire to please her friends, she'd done as they asked.

Of course, the professor had immediately discovered the theft, seeing as he'd exited his office at the very same moment that she had been exiting his stores. After much castigation, her punishment was to harvest more while he supervised. Despite the various dangers that lurked within it, the Forbidden Forest in and of itself was not overtly unpleasant. Harvesting the mushrooms, which only flourished in the defecation of Centaurs, however, was.

That's where the Death Eaters had found them, or rather, ran into them. The three masked men had Apparated to a clearing in the Forest that was only several yards away from where she and the professor stood. They held perfectly still as the men strode over to them, hands placed away from their bodies to show they were not holding their wands. To Hermione's horror, the shorter of the three spoke to her professor with familiarity, using his first name when he addressed him (and in the same breath referring to her as a dirty Mudblood). Professor Snape started in shock when he heard his name and then dared to glower at the man who'd uttered it. The tallest of the three black-cloaked men back-handed the short man who fell to his knees, cowering. A thick silence prevailed as the other two men and the professor stared at one another, seemingly considering their next move. The Death Eater who had hit the short man slowly pointed his wand at Hermione, saying, "he will understand that we had no other choice".

Immediately, the professor moved to stand in front of her. She'd let out a sob of relief at the same time her attempted murderer emitted a scoff of disgust. When he spoke again, Hermione thought that his voice sounded familiar but she could not place it.

"Severus, I'm sure you realize what this means."

The professor only nodded his head once. The third Death Eater, his wand also fixed on Snape, moved closer to his companion, whispering to him sidelong in a gravelly voice. Hermione had excellent hearing and she was able to discern that he meant to return to their headquarters to notify their Master of what had transpired and to return with reinforcements while the other two guarded her and the professor. The other Death Eater jerked his head sharply in acquiescence and the man ran back to where he had first appeared, instantaneously vanishing from sight. Strangely, the lone Death Eater began to chuckle.

"Lestrange still fears you, Severus, even unarmed."

Snape smirked darkly at the man, continuing to shield Hermione.

"What do you intend to do?" he asked smoothly, his demeanor and posture suggesting that he was completely unruffled.

The Death Eater relaxed his stance as well, willingly playing into the professor's game. He lowered his weapon minutely, but it was more than enough to let them know that he wasn't going to kill them. Without warning, he spun around, fixing his wand on the still prostrate Death Eater and hissed the words, _"Avada Kedavra_." The man was engulfed by a scorching green blaze before he slumped to the ground, dead. To Hermione's horror, the murderer cast a spell she didn't recognize on the body, which reduced it at once to blackened ashes. She began to shake violently as her legs gave way beneath her. She turned from the fallen Death Eater and retched onto the grass. Her professor and the other man barely noticed her display of disgust.

"Very well, Severus," the Death Eater acceded. "The both of you had better come with me at once."

His wand still trained loosely on the pair, he led Hermione and the professor to the point from which he had arrived into the Forest, and the three of them were whisked away without a trace.

* * *

When the world around them had stopped swirling and came into focus once more, Hermione found herself in an enormous attic filled with fine antiquities and richly upholstered furniture. She realized that her hands were gripping onto a section of her Professor's robes and wondered how long she had been holding on to him; he must have noticed but he made no move to push her away. He was solely focused on the Death Eater in their company, who had undone his cloak and tossed it easily onto the back of a brocade chair. With a seemingly practiced flourish, he removed his mask. Hermione gasped; of course the voice had sounded familiar to her. She had only met him a few times but she instantly recognized Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, well," the man crooned superciliously, his self-important drawl much clearer without the mask. He was looking at the professor and completely ignoring Hermione. "I'd had my suspicions for a long time, Severus, but I think this certainly confirms them. Tell me, how long have you been playing both sides of the field?"

The professor only glared at Malfoy, not moving an inch. Hermione had been made aware over a year ago by the Order of the Phoenix that Professor Snape was a spy for Headmaster Dumbledore but she wished he would put aside his pride and beg for forgiveness, if only to spare their lives. Malfoy hadn't killed them yet but Lord Voldemort likely would if they were to be brought to him. The Death Eater leaned elegantly against the brocade chair, idly toying with his wand. Still gazing at the professor he shook his head, feigning regret.

"I didn't think you'd deign to confide in me. Pity, considering our lengthy history. So," Malfoy straightened, moving on. "I have a place, here, where you can stay until... Well, until the coast is clear, as it were. But there's no telling how long that may be."

Hermione was so relieved her legs almost gave way; it was clear now that Malfoy was not going to kill them after all. She was too overwhelmed with the situation at hand to wonder why he appeared to be helping them now.

"What do you mean, "a place here"?" Snape was asking, jet eyebrow raised. "If you are referring to that poorly insulated spare bedroom-"

"No, no," Malfoy waved his inference away. "You wouldn't be aware of this room. I created it just after the Dark Lord returned, in the chance that we might be found out. I needed a place for my family and I to be safe for a very long time, if necessary. Of course, I never did finish decorating it, but... beggars can't be choosers."

He smirked at Professor Snape's dubious glare and held out a gloved hand.

"Shall we, then?"

* * *

Malfoy had bade the two of them precede him to a far corner of the attic where there lay a pile of slightly dusty, folded sheets which he pulled away to reveal an enormous, gilded trunk. Turning his back to them, he made several small motions with his wand while uttering something under his breath and the trunk's lid sprang open. To Hermione's confusion, its discolored, red velvet lining was empty.

"This is the sole link in existence to the room in which you shall be confined," Malfoy explained, his cold voice hugging onto the last word. "You will be provided with food, drink, beds and a bathroom. I will come to check in on you when I am able, by way of a Portkey which only I know the location of. And I know you shall object to this, Severus but it is imperative that I confiscate your wands. Oh, don't worry, I promise you I'll keep them in a safe place. You know that you would be tracked quite easily if you were to use them and I know that my simply telling you not to won't keep you from it after a time."

"You just love this, don't you, Lucius? The power you derive from it!" Snape spat, his barely concealed rage causing Hermione to shiver in trepidation of Malfoy's wrath. "As if this were an opportunity to you, and not an-an-an ending for me!"

"Now, now, Severus," Malfoy tutted. "Do you think it's convenient for me to house a traitor and an infamous Mudblood? I am doing this for you out of the goodness of my heart. Don't make me change my mind."

Hermione's hackles had risen at his description of her but his final words cowed her temper into fearful submission. She kept still and quiet, willing to follow whatever decision her professor was about to make. She trusted him implicitly and in this situation, she had no other choice. Malfoy's ever-present smirking sneer remained plastered to his thin, colorless lips as he held out his hand in expectation of receiving their wands. Professor Snape grasped the wand that she was tremulously holding out and brusquely handed it over along with his own.

"As I was saying," Malfoy continued haughtily. "All of your physical needs should be met by the preparations I had put into place. My magic will stand the test of time, I am sure of it. Should you need me, you will simply have to note your grievance and wait for my next visit. There is no way for anyone else to enter the room, nor is there any way for you to be able to leave it. Any questions?"

He looked to Snape, whose sharp jaw was clenched tightly and for the first time since he'd come upon them in the Forbidden Forest, he allowed his eyes to pass over Hermione. Or, what little he could see of her from behind her professor's voluminous robes. His icy grey gaze pierced her vision as if it were too bright to focus upon and she immediately looked down. She could practically feel Malfoy's smile spreading up his cheeks. To her immense relief, Professor Snape purposefully shifted so that he was completely shielding her from the Death Eater's leer.

"Hm," Malfoy sneered at the display. "Well, then. Are you ready?"

Professor Snape nodded briskly and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, instinctually preparing to be Apparated again.

"Now, both of you must place the palms of your hands into the bottom of the trunk. After you do this, you will immediately be transported to the room." Malfoy's eyes darted from one to the other irritably as neither Hermione nor the professor made the first move. "Well, get on with it! I have to get back and make excuses for you."

This effectively spurred Professor Snape into action and he strode towards the trunk, leaving Hermione in the open without his back for protection. Like a magnet meeting its match, she rushed to him. Making sure to catch his eye, she silently asked him if this was the right decision. His answering regard was frank, strong, certain. The two of them slowly reached their right hands into the trunk. As their palms met with the roughened velvet interior, everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione woke with a start in the middle of the night. Or, what she surmised was the middle of the night. Professor Snape must have switched off the lamp and turned on a small nightlight that was plugged into the wall between their beds. The Muggle device that she had been accustomed to as a child was comforting. Taking a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light, she stretched painfully (the bed was rather lumpy and hard). She'd had a bad dream about the Death Eater Malfoy had murdered the day before. She wondered who he was, if he had a family, if he had ever done anything more horrible than simply follow Voldemort. She shivered as she pictured his lifeless body dissolving into ash.

Remembering-to her great relief-that she was not alone, she looked about for her professor. He was sleeping on his back on the other bed, his thin, white hands clasped over his stomach. He was still clothed in his black robes, as she was in her school uniform. Suddenly, she wondered how she and the professor were meant to change clothes. They certainly couldn't be expected to wear the same things until they got out of here. If Malfoy made good on his promise and checked up on them, she would have to ask him for more clothing.

Thoughts raced through her mind of Malfoy never coming to check in on them, of him forgetting about them, of she and Snape dying of starvation and thirst. Stifling a sob, she rose on shaky legs and wobbled over to Snape's bed. Just as she was about to reach out her hand to gently prod him awake, his eyelids snapped open. He made not a single movement, save for his eyes rolling to his left, where she stood. The action reminded her of a reanimated corpse and she gasped, pressing her clammy hands to her mouth.

"Relax, Miss Granger," Snape commanded in a long-suffering tone upon recognizing her.

He sat up and swung his legs to the floor, taking a brief moment to scan the room as if assuring himself that all was as it had been before his nap. Once satisfied of this, he turned back to his student. Hermione was unable to meet his hard gaze and deferentially focused her attention on her shoes.

"Now. What are you doing up?" he demanded, as though they were back at school and he had caught her up past curfew.

"I had a bad dream," she whispered shyly.

The professor rolled his eyes and pushed his lank hair away from his face.

"And you felt the need to wake me in order to tell me about it?" he questioned her dubiously.

Furrowing her brows, Hermione recognized the futility of her instinct to confide in him. But he was the only other living creature in this room and she couldn't bear to wait out the entirety of this misery in respectful silence.

"It frightened me," she pushed on courageously, ignoring his snort of disgust. "It was about that man."

Snape continued to sneer at her, raising an eyebrow as her refusal to elaborate made clear that she assumed he knew who she was referring to.

"Blast it all, Granger, _what _man?"

"The one who was killed!" she burst out. Stating her fear aloud afforded her a modicum of relief, as well as causing memories of the incident to come flooding back through her mind. She began to cry openly into her small hands, unable to help herself.

The professor pinched the bridge of his nose, expelling a long breath through his nostrils.

"Miss Granger, I'm... sorry you had to see that." His free hand wavered uncertainly next to Hermione's left shoulder before finally deciding to clasp it tentatively. "There was nothing you could have done."

Hermione sniffled, her sobs quieting at his touch. She lowered her hands from her eyes so that she was able to look at Snape. His face remained impassive, unmoved by her tears, which she found strangely comforting.

"Nothing whatsoever. Do you understand?"

His tone brooked no argument and she offered none. She nodded in affirmation of his question and he nodded once as if to punctuate the discussion. He quickly removed his hand from her shoulder and made to lay back down on his bed. When she didn't move an inch he turned to glare at her.

"Miss Granger, go back to sleep _now_."

"Yes, sir," she squeaked, and rushed back into her own bed, pulling the starchy covers over her head.

Although the professor hadn't offered her any words of sympathy or understanding, she felt as though she had gained those things from their brief conversation. Trying not to dwell on the slain Death Eater any longer, she closed her eyes and shortly drifted back into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione awoke with the sour taste of sleep and hunger in her dry mouth. She smacked her lips in distaste and rubbed at her eyes. Looking about the room, now brightly illuminated by the floor lamp, she found Professor Snape seated before the table, sipping absently from a white saucer as he read what appeared to be an academic text. Hermione blinked hard, suddenly aware of the strong aroma of hot tea and buttered toast. She scrambled to disentangle herself from her bedsheets, which had entwined about her legs in her sleep.

"I _hear _that you're awake, Miss Granger," Snape murmured sardonically, an eyebrow raised but his eyes never leaving his reading. "Perhaps we'll have to ask Lucius for an alarm clock. I prefer quiet mornings and your unconscious mutterings and tossing about aren't exactly peaceful sounds."

Hermione only grunted her annoyance at his jibe, too fresh from sleep to remember to behave in a respectful manner towards her teacher. She walked to the table, eyeing his teacup and a white plate stacked with lightly steaming toast.

"How did you get that?" she asked, motioning to the small bounty. "Did Malfoy come?"

"No, Miss Granger, he did not. I had thought that, despite your heritage, a witch of your notorious intellect would have noticed the cupboard."

"...Cupboard, sir?" Hermione asked uncertainly. The professor rolled his eyes and indicated the moderately-sized, whitewashed hutch that was placed against the wall adjacent to the beds. Awkwardly, Hermione moved towards it, eyeing it dubiously. With tentative fingers, she pulled apart the two doors. Only a teacup that matched her professor's was inside the cupboard's dusty innards.. She frowned; it appeared to be nothing more than a rickety antique. The derisive snort emitting from Snape made her jump but she refused to turn and face him. She was embarrassed that she couldn't immediately understand what was so special about the object before her.

"Granger, I'll save you the mortification you would no doubt experience by asking me of the significance of the cupboard," Snape said dryly, the truthfulness of his statement causing Hermione to blush. "It is a magical portal between Lucius and ourselves. He will have charmed an object, such as a cupboard like this one, or a desk, a box-anything composed of similar dimensions-and when he places items, like this meal, within his portal, it is magically transferred to ours. This is how he is to deliver food, water and certain amenities to us."

"How very clever," Hermione couldn't keep herself from remarking, earning herself another scoff from Snape.

She determined to ignore his condescending behavior and lifted the other teacup out of the cupboard. Its heaviness surprised her and she nearly dropped it; it was almost full to the brim with tea. She was sure it hadn't been when she first looked at it but perhaps it had been charmed to fill up when she touched it. Carefully, she carried it to the table and gingerly sat across from her professor. He appeared intent on ignoring her, his face now completely obscured by the text he was reading. Because of this, Hermione felt no need to utilize her table manners and ate four whole pieces of toast voraciously, gulping down her hot tea after she'd finished. Perhaps it was because she was so hungry, but it tasted delicious. Her stomach was now comfortably full and she sighed contentedly, leaning back in her chair.

In silence, she began to watch Professor Snape while he read. She could only see the very top of his head and his hands, which gently gripped either side of the pages. They were long, thin and quite pale. Even his neatly filed fingernails were pale, almost blending into his skin. He seemed to read very slowly, for it took him quite a bit longer to turn the pages than it would her. The text looked to be quite old, its cover faded and wrinkled. She wanted to ask him if she could read it when he was finished but she was inexplicably too timid to do so. She settled for seeing what she could make out of the description on the back of the text. It seemed to be about rare fungi and their uses in potions making.

Suddenly and without warning, Professor Snape snapped down the text to reveal his stoic face, eyes boring into Hermione's as if he had been able to see her through the pages. She jumped back in her chair, squeaking out a gasp without meaning to. His left nostril twitched as if in disgust at her reaction.

"Miss Granger, you have but to ask me and I will relinquish this," he said, lightly shaking the pages, "to you when I am finished. But don't ogle; it's rude and unattractive."

"U-unattractive?" she spouted in disbelief. _He _was going to lecture _her _on what was or was not attractive? She herself was no renowned beauty but it was quite clear to all who looked upon him that Professor Snape was not even remotely...

However, scrutinizing him now while he read-his impassive expression relaxing his sharp features into an elegant repose-he really wasn't quite so ugly as she had considered him to be in his classroom. He wasn't what anyone would call handsome but he was fairly tall, thin and he had all of his hair. A bit of a dour, funereal dresser but it suited his manner. He was, she decided, unique. He also had rather long eyelashes, she noted as his eyes flicked back to hers.

"Were you going to continue your thought, Miss Granger, or were you simply throwing the word into the air?"

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it several times. Something about his stern, certain tone and the combination of words he chose to use always threw her off balance. Unable to form a witty reply to his question, she smiled sheepishly and settled on a noncommittal shrug.

"Hmm," he grunted, seemingly satisfied that she had nothing further to offer him and hid his face behind the text again.

Hermione sighed aloud, knowing that he wouldn't pay her any mind. This was going to be a long, lonely imprisonment.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed to Hermione that Professor Snape spent nearly every waking moment reading. After finishing the text on fungi he'd read on their second day in the room, she had seen him return it to the cupboard and the following morning, there was something new in its place for him to read. Whether it was a full novel or a brief text, he would spend nearly the entire day poring over it before he would suddenly and dispassionately toss it into her hands. The texts were quite interesting, all of them on rare potions ingredients and where to find them but the books were all rather dull, either historical accounts or what Hermione surmised was the Wizarding equivalent of Muggle romance novels. She wondered if Malfoy took the time to look at their titles before sending them over.

She and the professor had been existing in near complete silence this way for several days now, the hours of which were already becoming monotonous.

In what she presumed was the morning, the two of them would rise together (Hermione waking at the instant her sleeping body recognized the sounds of her professor getting up from his bed), straighten their clothing and see what the cupboard-or, Lucius-offered for breakfast. Hermione would stand deferentially aside, allowing Snape to open the doors, remove his plate and cup and be seated before she would do the same. During their otherwise silent meal, she would always murmur something along the lines of "Malfoy has outdone himself this morning", to which he would not reply or even seemingly acknowledge. To their warden's credit, Malfoy-likely, his house elves-did feed them well. Their food was well-prepared, healthy and thus far had never consisted of the same thing twice. Hermione suspected it was left over from Malfoy's own family meals.

After breakfast the professor would retrieve the day's reading from the cupboard and settle into his chair at the table with it. Hermione would clear the dishes and return them to the cupboard. Then, she would walk around the room, staying close to the walls, in order to get some form of exercise, after which she would briefly stretch her limbs. After several hours had passed, Snape would put his reading down and go to the cupboard to check if lunch had arrived. So far, it was always there when he went to look. He would remove a large mug of hot tea but always ignored his plate of food. Hermione had asked him if he wasn't hungry during their first lunch together and he had replied that he didn't much enjoy eating. She'd asked him why but he ignored the question, placing the book in front of his face so as to obscure her view of him. They didn't speak for the rest of that day.

Once they-or, she-had finished with lunch, Hermione would again return their dishes to the cupboard, walk around the room in the other direction, stretch and wait for Snape to retrieve their dinner, which she would eat and he would pick at. When dinner was over, Hermione would return the dishes and sit on her bed, waiting for her professor to finish reading so that she could do the same before they retired for the night. She wasn't sure if Snape slept much (he would lay deathly still on his back, his breathing shallow but even and his eyes closed) but she would not be able to succumb to it for hours. Her mind and body had not been exercised to even half of their potential and so it was impossible for her to rest peacefully. Instead, she would toss and turn, her thoughts running wild. She would worry about her friends and teachers back at Hogwarts, wondering what, if anything, they knew about her disappearance. She would go over the events-although, steadfastly avoiding thoughts of the murder she had witnessed-that had brought her into this place and imagine things she could have done differently, painstakingly considering every possibility until she would finally wear her mind out enough to allow her to get a few hours' rest.

The sameness of each day she and Snape wasted being useless, indulging in habits adapted only to keep themselves alive and sane, wore on Hermione's unused intellect like a file on a worn down fingernail. She did not like to be idle, physically or mentally. If she was going to be stuck here with Professor Snape for an indeterminate period of time, she knew she would have to be able to at least share idle chatter with him or she would go mad.

* * *

Hermione stared at Professor Snape as he picked at his oatmeal-she had long since diminished her own-willing him to meet her gaze, or to at least acknowledge in some small way that he was aware he was being scrutinized. She imagined that her pupils were heat-seeking lasers roving over his hands, his chest, his face, his eyes, but he remained oblivious. Furious, she began to grind her teeth and then to tap her fingernails against the table. Still, nothing from the professor. Her anger turned to desperation, pooling icily in her stomach. She had to speak and be spoken to.

"Professor," she quested. His eyebrows rose infinitesimally; it was more than enough to encourage her to continue. She realized she'd no idea what she wanted to say. "Um, how did you sleep last night?"

Snape shook as if startled and glared at her, his piercing eyes causing her nervous stomach to flip over, before going back to his food and pretending she hadn't said anything. It was such an innocent question but he had seemed offended by it.

"I didn't sleep very well at all," she pressed on, her chest feeling less tight with each word spoken and so she let them spill forth. "In fact, I've hardly slept since we've been... here. I'm afraid to fall asleep, in case I have that nightmare again and I have so little to occupy myself with during the days that it's all but impossible for me to feel rested. I just lie there for hours, tossing and turning and when I do fall asleep, it's not a deep sleep and it's only for a couple of hours at most before I wake up again. You know, I've taken to watching _you_ while you sleep, instead of just staring at the ceiling and trying to imagine someplace I'd rather be. You look so peaceful... it's not exactly that I envy you for being able to sleep but I suppose I sort of vicariously enjoy sleep through you-"

"Miss Granger," Snape said at last, slightly exasperated. He was looking directly at her. "You're rambling. Take a moment to gather your thoughts before speaking again."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," she demurred bashfully, ducking her head. "I suppose I've finished."

Now that she had his full attention-she could feel his eyes upon her-a thrill of triumph rippled up her spine but she found herself unexpectedly shy of him. His focus was powerful and dissecting. Several uncomfortable moments passed before the professor spoke again.

"I understand that this situation is very trying for a young person of your intellect," he began. Hermione's eyes shot up to meet his gaze-unlike every other teacher she'd had, Professor Snape had not once before acknowledged her intelligence. "But you must strive to endure. Still all of your fears and quiet all unnecessary thoughts. You must train your mind to act in its most primitive capacity, your foremost concern that of mere survival and nothing more. Then will you be able to better pass the time until our... release."

Hermione watched her professor raptly as he spoke to her, awed by his composure, her ears delighting in the gift of his sonorous voice before her mind took in his words. She wanted to follow his directions but she could not bear the thought of doing so in the echoing silence she had been experiencing before this discussion. She had to convince him to keep talking to her.

"I'm not sure if I am capable of that, sir," she said doubtfully. "Not without further instruction from you, that is."

Snape frowned, squinting at her suspiciously.

"Miss Granger, I don't know how I could more clearly explain it..."

Hermione sighed in frustration, abandoning her manners.

"Professor, I would just prefer it if you would not ignore me anymore," she blurted plaintively. Snape crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, considering her at length. He opened his mouth, closed it and then grudgingly began to speak.

"I had assumed that conversation between us would be as unwelcome to you as it is, me."

"Oh, quite the contrary, sir, I-"

"So I gathered," he interruped her brusquely. He cleared his throat, eyes darting towards the cupboard. "Miss Granger, put the dishes away and bring me today's reading material."

She nodded enthusiastically, jumping up to do as she was told. She knew he likely wouldn't enjoy discussing her personal thoughts and fears but at least the ice had been broken and she felt much easier about speaking to him. Her posture was straight as she gathered their dishes and brought them to the cupboard. She felt buoyed by a new hope, her chest filling with it as though her heart was a balloon that had been suddenly inflated.

Today's reading was a wizarding novel called _Thistlewick Manor. _The winding, flowery font of the title and cover illustration of a wistful witch in rose-colored robes, standing before rolling, green fields dotted with wildflowers all conspired to allude to what was undoubtedly three hundred pages worth of dull, simpering drivel. Perhaps she could joke about it with the professor once they had finished reading it. With a smile, she handed Snape the book and he took it from her with the barest hint of a smirk.


	6. Chapter 6

"Miss Granger, bring breakfast to the table. Please," Snape added, the word stiff and reluctant, in answer to Hermione's indignant glare. She did as he asked, albeit in the stubbornly slow way a child who does not wish to disobey their parents but does not want to do as they're told would.

At first she hadn't minded-contrarily, she welcomed-the way he ordered her about the room. "Miss Granger, make the beds", "Miss Granger, clear the table", or, "Miss Granger, put a note in to Lucius for another book". She had been glad he'd been willing to speak to her and that she was given tasks, however simple, to complete. When she attempted to engage him in conversation about a book they'd read or to make idle chitchat, however, he would request that she be quiet so he could finish his current reading or close his eyes and rest. Hermione was getting frustrated again and the fact that the room was now smelling a bit like the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower wasn't helping.

She and Snape had been here for almost two weeks and they'd yet to bathe or change their clothes. During the first week, Hermione had not thought about either of these things, too consumed was she with adjusting to their circumstances, but now that she was aware that she was becoming filthy, she yearned to shower and to put on some fresh clothing. She'd been waiting for Snape to ask her to request a change of clothing from Lucius, for she had been too bashful to bring it up. Hermione watched her professor settle down at the table to begin picking at his oatmeal, his gaunt face unshaven and pale. As he flicked a greasy hank of hair out of his eyes, Hermione felt she could wait no longer.

"Professor?" she asked, receiving the now accustomed wordless raise of his eyebrows in response. Insufferably, she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "Ah, may I write Lucius for a change of clothes for each of us?"

Snape put his spoon down and regarded his robes, his nostrils flicking minutely. Hermione had to stifle a laugh, amused that he had apparently, just this minute, noticed their current state of deshabile. The professor sneered derisively at her.

"Very well, Miss Granger. Make sure to request that whatever he sends us is simple and functional." He rolled his eyes and gave a mock long-suffering sigh at Hermione's expectant expression. "_Please_, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled.

* * *

That evening when Hermione went to the cupboard to check for dinner, she saw instead the clothing that she had requested. A small note had been placed on top of the neatly folded garments that read simply, '_enjoy_', in a sweeping, elegant hand. Smiling grandly, she placed the bundle on the table before her professor, expecting him to be likewise pleased. Instead, Snape recoiled from his seat, regarding the clothing in the way one would scrutinize a crushed insect. He plucked the note from atop them and scoffed at it in disgust before tossing it away. He began to pick up and examine each piece, using only his thumb and index fingers. There was a crisp, white blouse, a red, velvet jumper and thick black stockings for Hermione and for Snape there was also a crisp, white blouse, black, fitted trousers, and a red, velvet robe. Snape balled the robe up and flung it back onto the table.

"That despicable bastard," he muttered darkly.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, frowning in confusion and disappointment. Perhaps she had been naive to hope he'd be as overjoyed as she was by the clothes. She had even imagined him smiling, although that image was fuzzy in her mind, as she'd never seen him actually smile.

"Does he think us his dolls, his playthings, to keep as he will and to dress in matching clothes?" Snape shouted venemously, hurling his chair to the floor and causing two of its legs to crack away from the frame. Hermione gave a whimper of surprise at the noise, watching the professor as he snorted furious breaths out of his sizable nostrils, his fists clenched stiffly at his sides.

"Professor, it's all right," she attempted to placate him. She instinctively reached out a hand for his shoulder but he stepped away from her, preferring to seethe in silence. Trying her best not to be offended, as she did not believe his intent was to reject her sympathy, Hermione moved to kneel before the chair and held her right hand over it. She uttered the word '_Reparo_', and the splintered legs magically rejoined the chair. She set it upright and pushed it back to its place before the table.

"I didn't know you were able to perform wandless magic," Snape uttered, sounding as though he were trying hard to keep his tone even and soft. Hermione met his gaze and smiled tentatively, nodding her head.

"For a few years now, Professor." She was unable to fully stop the pride from coming through in her voice. She ducked her head sheepishly. "A bit, that is. Not as much as I'm sure you can, sir."

Snape did not take the bait, only grunting noncommittally in response to her statement. The two stood in awkward silence for several moments, uncertain as to how to break the tension. Hermione glanced down at the clothing strewn about the table and remembered how much she wanted to be clean. She gathered the articles meant for her into her arms.

"Um, Professor, I'm going to go, uh, use the shower now," she announced, horribly embarrassed about saying such a thing to her teacher and unable to even look his way. "I'll be out soon."

"Fine," Snape answered, sounding just as uncomfortable.

Hermione all but raced into the washroom. The door had no lock on it but she wasn't worried about Snape barging in on her. There were two large, white towels hanging from the back of the door and she plucked one down, placing it, along with her new clothing, on top of the toilet seat. Hurriedly, she peeled off the outfit she had been wearing for almost two weeks, her skin prickling gratefully as it met with the air.

There was a large block of olive green soap in the shower but no shampoo. She supposed the block would have to suffice for body and hair and turned on the taps which, after a frightful burst of sputtering, proved to be in good working order. As the hot water hit her back Hermione sighed in relief. She'd felt so disgustingly dirty for the past few days. She took her time cleaning her body and hair with the green soap, which smelled wonderfully earthy.

Finally, she stepped out of the stall and dried with the white towel before putting on the clothing Lucius had provided. It was slightly too large for her but not uncomfortable and she was thankful for its cleanliness. She rolled her smelly old robes up in the towel and placed them in the corner of the bathroom, hoping that they wouldn't bother the professor there. Nervously, she opened the door, steam from the shower billowing out around her. The professor was sitting on the edge of his bed rereading one of the scientific texts he had begun to hoard underneath his pillow. The two of them had decided to keep the more interesting choices of reading material with them, in case Lucius stopped sending them for any reason. They did not discuss what his reasons could be.

Hermione was unconsciously frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, completely focused on the slim, hunched form of her professor. A section of black hair fell from behind his ear into his eyes and she smirked to herself as he impatiently pushed it back in its place. His nostrils began to twitch and when he suddenly turned to face her, Hermione realized he must've smelled the scent of the clean, earthy soap on her. She remained trapped beneath his gaze, afraid that he knew she had been staring at him and wondering if he thought she was a dullard for not being able to move or to say anything.

Snape abruptly broke eye contact and placed the text on the bed beside him, face down and open to the page he was reading. Slowly, he rose and went to gingerly collect his clothing from the table, draping it over his arm and then pivoting to march towards the washroom. Hermione scurried to get out of his way, as would any student of Hogwarts if they passed him by in the halls. She took a seat at the table, combing her swiftly curling hair with her fingers. She would have to ask Lucius for two combs; naturally, she and her professor could not share one.

Likely because there was nothing else to do in the room, Hermione found herself straining to listen to the sounds that quietly emanated from the washroom. She heard the sink turn on for a moment and then off with a squeak, and then the soft swish of clothing being undone and dropped to the floor. Immediately, it occurred to her that Professor Snape was now naked just behind that bathroom door. She blushed hotly, refusing to allow herself to picture what he may look like. Shaking her head, she giggled at the realization of the notion she'd previously-if unconsciously-entertained that none of her teachers were capable of nudity; as though they had their clothing sewn onto their bodies, or they were like stuffed toys or dolls, and didn't have flesh under their clothes.

Snape waited a much longer time than she had before he turned on the water in the shower. With embarrassing curiosity, Hermione listened to the water curtaining around the professor's body as he washed. She wondered if he liked the unusual green soap and wanted to ask him if he knew-being a Master of potions and therefore familiar with a multitude of herbs and spices-what its properties were but decided that would not be a proper question to ask him. Suddenly, she wondered if he felt the need to relieve himself sexually. With that immediate, unbidden thought came a wave of shame and she felt filthier than she had before her shower.

Just then, the taps squealed shut, causing Hermione to jump in her seat. She rubbed her wet hair against her cheeks in an attempt to cool them, hoping the professor would not guess what she had been thinking. Without wanting to, she heard the other white towel being pulled off of its hook and, after a moment, the muted rustle of clothing being put on.

With a sick feeling, it occurred to her that the professor could have heard the exact same sounds she had been listening to when she'd been in the washroom. Would a teacher think the things that she had thought about her as well? Would a former Death Eater?

The washroom door burst open and Snape emerged, trailed by clouds of hot steam. He looked so uncharacteristically uncomfortable in the red robe; Hermione had never seen him wear any color other than black. He was carrying both of their dirty clothing and the two white towels in his arms. Sneering with repugnance, he opened the cupboard and thrust them inside. As if on second thought, he stopped himself from closing the doors and scanned the floor with his eyes, which gleamed when they lit on the note from Lucius that he had tossed aside earlier that evening. Swiping it up, he took the pencil from atop the cupboard that Hermione wrote Lucius with and used it to hastily cross out the word _'enjoy_', then angrily scribbling the words '_wash these and return them' _underneath it. He then threw the note on top of their soiled clothes and slammed the cupboard doors shut.

Sniffing imperiously, he wiped his hands on his robe as if to rid them of invisible grime. Without looking at Hermione once, he glided into his seat at the table across from her. They sat in silence for several long moments, Hermione watching the professor's fingertips as he drummed them against the wood. Suddenly, his black eyes shot up to meet hers and she gulped anxiously.

"Miss Granger, go and check the cupboard for dinner," he ordered her brusquely.

Hermione rose immediately to do as he asked, not daring to request that he say 'please'.


	7. Chapter 7

It was daily becoming more difficult for Hermione to deny that she was developing an absurd obsession with Professor Snape. She was not unfamiliar with psychology (having spent one summer a couple of years ago poring through each psychological text and case in her local library), and told herself that the reason she was noticing him in a different light was because he was the only other person she'd had contact with for almost three weeks now.

He remained as uptight and sarcastic as ever but she now had the time to observe him at length and to really see him. She'd already known him to be exceedingly intelligent but now she saw that he was insightful and learned on many subjects aside from potions, even extending to the Muggle world.

She doubted Snape felt anything beyond tolerance for her but he had of late been allowing her to engage him in discussions about the books they'd been reading and even on the Wizarding world and the war. He had an incisive and combative style of debate and always seemed to end up in the right at the end of the discussion, although often, in retrospect, Hermione felt that she had somehow been cheated out of a victory.

One morning after breakfast they remained at the table, deeply involved in a debate that had started out as an innocuous exchange on the merits of a good breakfast. Hermione was pro, Snape, infuriatingly indifferent.

"But Professor, scientifically, human beings need fuel upon waking," Hermione was saying, gesticulating insistently. "You can't sit there and tell me that, unlike every other person on the planet, you do not require food for fuel!"

"I can tell you whatever I please, Miss Granger," Snape answered superciliously. The right corner of his thin upper lip rose of its own accord in a smirk. "And unless you mean to analyze my blood and to examine my bones and organs, there is no _scientific _way that you can, without a doubt, know otherwise."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed uselessly, unable to express her frustration in words. She threw up her hands and slumped back in her seat, effectively pouting.

"I give up, Snape," she grumbled. "You win, as always."

"That's _Professor _Snape, _Miss_ Granger," Snape corrected her, but his tone was more amused than chastising. "Were we in Hogwarts, I could take points from you for that infraction. It's not a minor one."

"Mmph," she grunted.

"Oh, come now, Miss Granger, you're not a child. Do act your age."

Hermione perked up at this, raising her head to meet his apathetic gaze. He didn't think her a child? Did he think her an adult? An equal? Snape furrowed his brow at her prolonged scrutiny.

"No, I'm not a child," she affirmed quietly. Snape's jet eyebrows drew further together.

"Hmm," he hummed suspiciously. His eyes darted away from hers as though a bright light had been switched on within them. "Clear the table, Miss Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sluggishly rose to do as he asked.

"Whatever happened to 'please'?" she asked, not expecting an answer and she did not receive one. She sighed as she picked up Snape's bowl, disappointed to see that he'd eaten very little of his hot cereal. "Professor, are you sure you don't want any more?"

"I'm sure, Miss Granger," Snape averred. "_Please_, take it away."

"Sir, I only worry about your health." Hermione put the bowls down and placed her hands on her hips. "You've gotten ghastly pale-more so than usual, that is-and you look thinner than before."

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that I am perfectly fine and your concern is misplaced," he ground out stubbornly, glaring daggers up at his student. "It is most unfortunate that you have so little to occupy yourself with but _do not _distract yourself with my well-being."

"Don't be silly, Professor," Hermione said, waving off his prickly command. The fear she used to share with her fellow students of this man dissipated more each day that they lived in this room together and he behaved with some modicum of civility towards her. "Just look at your arm! I bet I could wrap my fingers all the way 'round it."

Boldly, she grasped his left bicep, succeeding only in proving that her fingers did not go even halfway around it. She could feel his muscle tighten and freeze under her touch and, slowly, she looked up into his face. She gulped down a breath of shallow, dry air as their eyes met, hers imploring and his unmovable. He seemed confused for a moment, as though he wished to move away and was uncertain as to why she remained still. Then his eyes flickered imperceptibly, seemingly alight from within.

Immediately, he wrenched his arm out of her hold and got up from the table. He did not look back at her as he went to his bed, pulling out an old potions periodical from under his pillow to begin reading. Hermione's stomach fluttered with nerves, his reaction making her ashamed to have touched him. Hands shaking, she gathered the bowls and spoons together and dropped them too loudly into the cupboard. She felt an overwhelming urge to apologize and to be forgiven.

"Sir, I-"

"Miss Granger," he interrupted smoothly, not looking up from his reading. "Put a note in to Lucius for more socks. Black, for me."

As if sensing her confusion, he slowly moved to look into her eyes, raising a brow and silently daring her to return to the subject.

"Yes, sir," she sighed, defeated, and went to the cupboard to do as he'd bidden her.

* * *

She could feel him watching her while she picked at her lunch-a large hank of wheat bread and a bowl of split pea soup-and delighted as she imagined his concern over her inappetance. She realized she was growing depressed due to their current situation, the resolution of which was unpredictable while the days were monotonously dull. Melancholia always caused her to lose interest in eating.

"Not hungry today, Miss Granger?" Snape asked mildly and she suppressed a triumphant smile. He rarely spoke first during mealtimes.

"No, not really," she mumbled, then sighed and leaned her heavy head on her right hand while her left continued to idly stir the soup.

"Hmm," Snape hummed disapprovingly.

They sat in silence for several long moments, during which Hermione's heart beat anxiously. She calmed herself with the sensation of his eyes roving over her despondent form, determined to wait for him to speak again. At last, the professor snorted irritably and crossed his arms.

"Miss Granger, you are likely hungrier than you know yourself to be. You hardly ate any breakfast."

So he had noticed, she thought, pressing her lips together so as not to smirk.

"I know, Professor, I guess I'm just not very hungry these days. It isn't as though I've much to do to keep myself going." She didn't feel as hopeless as her last sentence implied but she decided not to explain that to the professor.

"Don't be ridiculous," he protested emphatically. "We're only stuck in a room, in which we are fed, clothed and allowed to bathe. I'd hate to see how you'd do if captured by Death Eaters in the real war out there. I suppose it's for the best that you're here, though I wish I wasn't subjected to babysitting you."

Hermione had not expected to be insulted; his words wounded her pride like well-aimed knives into thin skin. Her hackles rose and she sat up straight, glaring angrily at her professor.

"How _dare _you undermine me! It's just as frustrating for me to be useless as it is for you. I may be young but I have many skills to contribute to this war as well! I am the brightest witch of this age," she repeated what so many in the Wizarding world had told her since she'd entered Hogwarts.

He scoffed and threw down his napkin, then rose and turned to walk away, dismissing her. Infuriated, she rushed after him.

"Don't walk away from me, Professor! There's nowhere for you to go."

Catching up to him, she grabbed his forearm and attempted to pull him around to face her. He was unexpectedly strong and with seemingly no effort he threw her off him and bore down on her with indescribable anger.

"You will not ever touch me," he seethed. "And if you try to do it again, you and I will both regret it."

Hermione drew back from him, terrified. She knew in that moment that he meant what he said. Perhaps whatever was in him that had made him become a Death Eater in the first place could never be completely eradicated by his service to the light.

Snape closed his eyes and breathed evenly through his nose, as if it was difficult to stop himself from physically destroying her right at this moment. Hermione went to lie down on her bed, facing away from him. After many long moments had passed, she heard the sounds of him removing their dishes to the cupboard. She failed to register that he had never done that before.

Hours later, Hermione woke up and rubbed her eyes against the dim light. Snape slept, for the first time, in his bed with his back to her. He had apparently left a note for her beside her pillow. With shaking hands, she picked it up and unfolded it, fleeting fantasies of his heartfelt apologies racing through her mind. Her heart sank down to her stomach and then rose up in her throat when she read its contents:

"_I have at last found a hole in tomorrow's schedule which would allow me to briefly visit with the two of you. No need for formal dress._

_Until then,_

_L. Malfoy"_


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione paced back and forth from her bed to the table, her eyes anxiously darting to the cupboard as though she expected Lucius Malfoy to suddenly emerge from it. He had not given them the time he was to arrive but she knew that was likely because she and Snape had no way of telling time. Still, they did have a very predictable schedule and Lucius could have told them he would come 'after lunch' or 'before nightfall', so they could have an approximate time frame in which to expect him.

She had taken an extra moment in the bathroom that morning after her shower, combing out her hair with the bristled brush that Malfoy had left in the cupboard per her request the previous week. She'd attempted to smooth down the resulting frizz with water but that tactic never worked, so she twisted the whole mass into a large bun at the base of her head. Her goal was to look presentable to their captor; she didn't want him to think she was wasting away in filth and misery. She wore a short gingham jumper (a bit childish but she'd no choice but to wear whatever Malfoy bestowed upon them) over her white collared shirt and black leggings and shoes. Snape had made no unusual efforts with his appearance. His lank hair hung over his face as it always did and he was wearing black robes and trousers. Malfoy had attempted to force colorful clothing upon him a second time after the gift of the red velvet robe but the note Snape angrily scribbled and tossed into the cupboard afterwards must have convinced him not to do it again.

Hermione glanced over to her professor, whose face was hidden behind the text on rare fungi that she was certain he'd read at least four times. They hadn't spoken at all that morning and neither had checked the cupboard for breakfast. She was infuriated by his stubborn refusal to acknowledge her after their argument from the night before but she knew she had no right to be, as she was mirroring his behavior. He flicked a page over and she jumped, startled by the sound. Taking in a deep breath, she forced herself to be seated at the edge of her bed, placing a hand over her hammering heart.

She heard the small book being placed on the bed and the professor turning to face her but she was afraid to look at him.

"Miss Granger," he began softly, his voice even and calm, soothing her frayed nerves. "There's no point in us ignoring one another and bickering is an even more futile activity."

She shifted so that she was facing him and nodded.

"You're right, Professor. And I apologize if I acted... well, a bit silly."

"A bit," he conceded, and although his expression remained somber, his eyes sparkled with subdued mirth.

Hermione smiled, hoping he would return the gesture but he only sneered and went back to his reading. She sighed, wishing she had an academic periodical under her pillow to peruse instead of the romance novels Lucius had given them. Snape had not been interested in those and, of course, hadn't objected to her hoarding them as he did the scholarly texts. Emboldened by their truce, she got up and walked over to his bed.

"Professor, would you mind if I borrowed one of your magazines?" she quested shyly.

He looked up at her for a long moment before reaching under his pillow and drawing one out, leafing briefly through it and then thrusting it at her. It was a text on truth-telling potions, such as Veritaserum and weaker versions of it. Hermione reached out eagerly to grab it but Snape held it away from her outstretched hands.

"When you've finished with this, I expect you to be fully versed in the composition of Veritaserum, its lasting effects on a person, and I want you to explain to me what might be used to counter them," he demanded in the sharp tone that he used in the classroom.

Thrilled that he had given her a task to complete which utilized her intelligence, she could only beam at him and nod her thanks. She feared that if she opened her mouth to speak, she might cry out of happiness. As she reverently accepted the text from her professor's hand, Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared in the center of the room, dressed in fine robes of black velvet with gold trimmings.

Hermione gave a frightened shriek and nearly fell to the floor but Snape gripped her arm to steady her as he rose from the bed. Once satisfied that she would remain on her feet, he quickly let her go and moved to stand between her and Lucius. The two men stared at one another for a moment until Lucius finally chuckled superciliously and surveyed the room with his eyes as he delicately smoothed back his long, white-blond hair. Upon closer inspection, the Dark Wizard looked a bit haggard; his cheeks were hollowed and there were dark circles underneath his icy blue eyes, which were slightly bloodshot. Hermione noted that he was clutching a small vial in one hand. She surmised that this must be the Portkey he was using to come in and out of the room.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" he drawled in a blatant attempt to ruffle Snape's feathers. The Potions Master's nostrils twitched but he refused to take the bait.

"So kind of you to drop by, Lucius," he intoned boredly. "It must have been difficult to find the time to do so, what with all of the _dinner parties _and _important meetings_ you're obligated to attend."

Malfoy scowled at the professor. He opened his mouth to speak but his eyes flicked over to Hermione and he stopped himself, instead emitting another forced chuckle.

"That bad, is it?" Snape asked, his tone infused with meaning, causing Hermione to look over at him curiously. His passive expression gave away nothing, so she returned her attention to Malfoy. His posture was slumped ever so slightly, belying his exhaustion, and his eyes appeared haunted and fearful.

"You have no idea," he hissed. "He's been suspicious of everyone since your mysterious disappearance."

"Lestrange told him?"

"Everything he suspects, yes," Lucius answered, seeming to know what Snape was inferring.

"What about the girl?" Snape asked, not even nodding towards Hermione but she knew he was referring to her.

"He knows about her, too. He was livid, jumping to the immediate conclusion that you were Dumbledore's man all along. I took the liberty of insinuating that you'd protected the girl from Lestrange for reasons that have nothing to do with this war. Reasons more... selfish." Malfoy finally looked at Hermione then, a carnal gleam in his eye. She shivered, forcing herself to be still and not to recoil behind her professor as she so desperately wanted to.

"Good," was all Snape said in reply. Surprised at first that he was condoning Malfoy's inferrence that Snape had been using her as a sex toy (she was not ignorant), she then immediately recognized the benefit of Voldemort's assuming this.

"Miss Granger," Malfoy addressed her, all smarmy arrogance again, with no trace of the fear he had previously shown to Snape. "I do apologize for boring you with this little discussion. Now, how are you enjoying your stay here at Malfoy Manor?"

His patronizing tone put her right on the defensive; she was about to let loose a scatching comment when she caught sight of Snape surreptitiously waving the fingers of his right hand behind his back, signaling her to be silent. She obediently complied, clamping her mouth shut as if on a sour taste.

"It's just fine, sir," she mumbled, head down.

"Well, you look _just fine._ Our food must be doing you well." Malfoy pivoted sharply, taking a visual inventory of the room. "And how neatly you're keeping my little hideaway. I'm certain it's your doing and not Severus's. How very... domestic. Don't you think so, Severus? Isn't she a lovely little housekeeper?"

Hermione could feel the Death Eater's leer and it was making her nauseous. She stepped behind her professor, automatically seeking his protection.

"Never mind her, Lucius," Snape said, placing his hands on his hips so that his robes billowed, completely obscuring Hermione from Malfoy's view. "Despite the Dark Lord's... tendency to distraction... how are we faring out there?"

Hermione heard his unasked question: _'When will we get out of here?'_

"Truthfully, Severus, we're rather at a standstill." Malfoy sighed. "It could go either way at this point. We could use you out there, old man. Such a pity we had to find ourselves in this unfortunate situation, isn't it?"

"Quite," Snape bit out through his teeth. Being directly behind him, Hermione could sense the tension radiating from his tightly controlled frame. She could practically feel his muscles clenching beneath his skin.

Malfoy chuckled to himself and ran a gloved hand over his smooth hair.

"Mm, well, I should really get back," he drawled. "Much to do, little time to do it in, you know. I do hope the two of you are as comfortable as possible."

Snape only snorted in reply.

"Then, I shall bid you good day," Malfoy said, bowing his head infinitesimally before disappearing from the room with a crack.

The professor immediately returned to his bed and his reading as though Malfoy had never been there but Hermione remained frozen in place. She was going over the two mens' words in her head and one thing stuck out to her: that Voldemort believed she and Snape had run off together-for whatever reason-and that Malfoy was promoting this idea. Why would the Death Eater do that? Moreover, why would he speak about the Dark Lord to Snape in front of her? He could have placed a silencing charm around the two to ensure their privacy. It seemed as though Malfoy was both protecting and dooming her at the same time. She knew Snape likely wouldn't be receptive to illuminating her but she had to ask.

"Professor, why didn't he cast a silencing charm?" she asked. Snape looked up at her, seeming to know exactly what she meant.

"Miss Granger, Lucius Malfoy's motivations are known only to himself. He has surprised me many times over the years, both in good and terrible ways. I do not know if he has any plans for you, or if he is even considering your life in the outcome of this situation at all. All I can tell you is that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you come out of this safely and completely unscathed."

Hermione looked into his eyes for a long time; his gaze was unwavering and calm. A lump of fear and gratitude rose in her throat as she realized that she would have to make do without any concrete answers as to what her fate would be. Whatever would happen, she was absolutely certain that this man would protect her and that made all the difference. She sniffled, smiled and went to her own bed to begin reading the text he had given her_._

* * *

In the middle of that night, Hermione awoke with a jolt, her body tightly cramped and dripping with perspiration. Covering her mouth to silence the sounds of her panting, she turned to see if she'd woken the professor. Thankfully, she had not. She allowed herself a shuddering sigh of relief and then, with shaking limbs, slowly lay back down and wiped her face and neck with the bedsheet.

She felt strange; she'd had a dream of mixed-up images of the murdered Death Eater, of Lestrange wanting to kill her, of Malfoy ordering Snape to rape her while Voldemort watched in pleasure. In the dream, Snape had disrobed before her-though her dream self could not see his body-and looked into her eyes, saying "you will come out of this unscathed." She had awoken just after that moment. She still did not feel completely awake but she was afraid to return to sleep lest the dream continue where it had left off.

She looked at the professor lying on his back in his bed, trying to lose the dream while she focused on the steady, slow movements of his chest as he breathed. Her eyes grazed over the sharp lines of his body beneath the severe black robes he wore even in sleep; they caressed the pale hands that were folded on his stomach and languidly traveled down the long legs to his black-socked feet, then back upwards until they settled upon his profile. His black hair lay flat against the white pillow, revealing his face to her searching stare. His nose was quite large but it was aquiline, aristocratic. Heavy black brows were creased over his closed eyes whose sooty lashes rested delicately over high cheekbones. All in all, he was really not that unpleasant-looking, Hermione thought. Not at all.

As if in a trance, she rose from her bed and drifted over to his. She did not feel her feet hit the cold floor, nor did she notice that his mattress was firmer than hers as she sat upon it. She placed her hands gently, slowly, on either side of his shoulders. Making every effort to be silent, so much so that she dared not even breathe, she lowered her head closer and closer to Snape's, her eyes fixated upon his face. Now that it was unguarded, she wanted to take this chance to see it completely, to memorize every line, every crease, every hair.

She felt his vice-like grip on her wrists before she saw his eyes open wide. He rose quickly into a seated position, keeping his hold on her as he scowled into her frightened face.

"What do you think you're doing , Miss Granger?" he growled and she jumped, tears spilling from her eyes.

"I... I don't-" she breathed and he shook her, causing her to cry out in pain and shock. "I'm sorry, Professor! I don't know!"

Slowly, he let go of her aching wrists. He tipped one finger under her chin and forced it up so that he could look into her eyes. For a long moment he stared as she shook and panted, willing herself not to look away from his questing gaze. She felt fuzzy and confused, as though she had still been dreaming up until this point. Finally, he removed his finger and her chin dropped down. She scurried back to her own bed and pulled the covers over her head, unable to keep from crying.

"Miss Granger, please, let me see your face," Snape asked tiredly. She complied, lowering the blanket from her face but keeping it swathed around her body as she moved to sit up. He appeared completely composed, sitting at the edge of his bed in his robes while she cowered in an overlarge tunic beneath her covers. She felt like a silly, emotional child before the stern figure of her professor and all she could feel at this moment was an overwhelming sense of shame.

"Take in a deep breath."

Trembling, she did what he asked without question.

"Now, release it. Slowly." He watched as she complied and her shaking subsided. "Good. Now, Miss Granger, I understand that, given our isolated situation, you're feeling a need to connect with me."

Surprised at his reasoning, Hermione nodded in response.

"That is not at all abnormal. However, I want you to understand and be wary of the line between the need for human interaction and the need to satisfy your more... base instincts."

Hermione looked back at him blankly for a moment before the meaning behind his words exploded into clarity. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp and was thankful that the dark likely obscured the deep blush that she felt spread hotly across her cheeks.

"Pr-Professor, I assure you, I don't feel-"

"Save it, Miss Granger," he cut her off impassively. "I'm not implying that you fancy me, you doltish girl. I'm telling you that when one is forced to be in the presence of only one other human being, they often develop an instinctual attraction to that person."

Hermione thought about this for a moment and realized that, given her fleeting fantasies and musings about the professor, perhaps she was in danger of developing a romantic obsession with him. After all, it was only natural; he had all but said so himself. She looked askance at his, as ever, serious countenance.

"So, does that mean that you... possibly... have begun to feel-"

"No," he interrupted her again, his tone firm and final. She ducked her head to hide a smirk but did not dare to question him. "Now, Miss Granger, that you are consciously aware of the psychological dangers of our proximity, you'll be able to do your best to avoid any inappropriate thought patterns or actions. Yes?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, wondering if he had noticed other instances of likewise strange behavior from her before tonight.

"Good." He scrutinized her briefly, then turned to settle back against his pillow. "And now that we have this mess cleared up, let us both go back to sleep. And _stay_ asleep."

"Yes, sir," she demurred, adjusting her covers and stretching out beneath them.

It took her some time to relax, so consumed was she by jumbled thoughts of her professor and the shocking realization that she did, indeed, rather fancy him. It must be due to their situation, as she couldn't imagine herself even entertaining the notion when they were back at Hogwarts. On the other hand, perhaps now that they were forced to live together and she was afforded the opportunity to get to know him as a man and not simply her snarky potions professor, these feelings were perfectly natural. Perhaps she'd grown fond of him because his intellect and manner appealed to her and not because her psyche was tricking her into it. Before she drifted off into sleep, indulging in a fantasy of returning to his bed and perhaps kissing him on the cheek, she absently wondered if these were inappropriate thought patterns.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few days, Hermione made conscious efforts to curb any behavior that would be perceived as inappropriate by Snape. The newfound knowledge of her burgeoning infatuation with him made her stomach churn with shame and nervousness. She was afraid to say or do anything that would give her feelings away, so she spoke very little and avoided eye contact with him whenever she could. She had been poring over the text on truth-telling potions he had given her the day of Malfoy's visit with a forced intensity. Although he'd told her he planned to verbally quiz her on the subject, he hadn't yet fulfilled that promise and she no longer expected him to.

She sat on her bed, re-reading the text for the fourth time, almost finished with memorizing the key points of an article on Veritaserum. It was afternoon and lunch would likely be awaiting them in the cupboard. She finished a sentence and tore her eyes away from the page, gently placing the text atop her pillow as she rose to check for food. Indeed, there were two small bowls of salad and two large hunks of bread inside. After so many dishes had been placed back into the cupboard with half of the food still in them, Malfoy must have decided to lessen their portions. That suited Hermione just fine and she was sure it did Snape-who could never be considered a voracious eater by any stretch-as well.

She set the food on the table quickly and took her seat without acknowledging her professor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him set his own reading material on his bed and smoothly cross the room to sit down opposite her, apparently deciding to partake of lunch today. Silence surrounded them as they ate save for the sounds of her chewing her food. She looked down at the table, forbidding herself to look into Snape's face but she couldn't stop herself from noticing his hands as they ripped chunks out of the bread or lifted forkfuls of salad up to his mouth. His every movement was so purposeful and graceful, she found herself entranced.

Suddenly, she felt the distinct sensation that she was being scrutinized. She allowed her eyes to travel over his hands, up his arms and to his face until she met his eyes, which were indeed focussed upon her. She started slightly, almost dropping her fork.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice a dark ripple over the calm waters of quietude. "You've been unusually speechless today and these past few days. Your silence is quite... out of character. I'm sure you can imagine my concern."

Hermione noted the tinge of amusement in his tone but couldn't falsify a smile in response to it. She was hard-pressed to believe that he didn't understand her reticence to communicate with him after what had happened the other night. Perhaps he was staunchly pretending it hadn't occurred, or he had genuinely dismissed the incident from his mind. She wished she could do the same, in either case.

"I'm fine, Professor," she answered, attempting to sound nonchalant. "It's just so dull here. I... I miss Hogwarts, my friends, my classes. My books, my room, my routines..."

She sighed and to her horror, her breath shook and tears sprang to her eyes. She covered them with her hands and turned in her seat so that she wasn't facing him, her lungs aching as she tried to stifle her sobs. He was silent for what seemed like a very long time and, with a flash of anger, she wondered if he was finishing his meal, ignoring her, when he finally spoke.

"I understand, Miss Granger," he uttered enigmatically. She lowered her fingers enough to peek at him and found him staring at his own hands, which were folded atop the table, a thoughtful crease between his black brows. Did he really feel badly for her? She was ashamed to realize she hadn't thought him capable of empathy. He must have felt her gaze, as his eyes suddenly shot up and met hers directly. He cleared his throat and made to rise from the table, a sneer marring any semblance of compassion that had previously imbued his features.

"It must be akin to a fate worse than death to be trapped in a veritable prison cell of a room with your least favorite professor. Here, you have no rules to break for the sake of adventure, no fawning fans to idolize you and your famous friends and no one to praise your every scribble upon parchment."

He stalked off to the wing chair and recommenced his reading without preamble. She sat frozen in her seat, her tears drying on her cheeks as she considered his well-aimed verbal barbs. They were almost reflexive; there was no real passion behind them. He'd insulted her in the same manner for almost seven years now. She'd long ago ceased taking it personally. Why should she do any differently now? Taking in a deep breath, she rose and began to gather the dishes together.

"Miss Granger," he intoned without inflection. With her back to him, she stopped, waiting for him to continue. "When you've finished clearing the dishes, come and tell me what you've learned from the text on Truth Potions that I lent you."

Relief bubbled up in her chest and she smiled down at the table; her first real smile in days.

"Yes, sir," she answered, endeavoring to keep an even tone.

* * *

Hermione stared unseeing into the pitch darkness (after the night of 'the incident', Snape kept the nightlight off) unable to sleep. She'd tossed and turned for an hour or two and now that her body was finally comfortable, her mind refused to relax. Thoughts and memories zipped through it at top speed like a swarm of gnats and she was unable to control them.

When she was a little girl she'd had problems with insomnia. Her inquisitive mind, constantly consumed with questions and theories, wouldn't shut down at night and she would read in bed until the wee hours of the morning. After enrolling at Hogwarts, she was elated to be able to fall into a regular sleeping pattern. She surmised it was because, being completely new to the Magical world, she was constantly learning new things in her waking hours, thus adequately satisfying the insatiable craving for knowledge that kept her brain churning.

She heaved a great sigh and threw off her blankets as if they had offended her. She knelt down onto the cold floor and crawled blindly through the darkness in the direction she knew the nightlight was located. Praying Snape wouldn't wake up and chastise her for doing so, she finally found it and switched it on, blinking painfully in the sudden onslaught of faint golden light. Though she could now see, she continued to crawl back to her bed. She had planned to reread one of the stupid romance novels until it dulled her to sleep but as she settled onto her side facing Snape, she found herself staring at him as he slept on his back. Once again, her eyes gently roamed over his sharp features and body as her breathing and heart rate increased. The gut-clenching bundle of nerves and giddiness that she had been experiencing in varying strengths over the past few days intensified painfully; she willed him to wake up and-

"Miss Granger," he murmured sleepily, though he hadn't otherwise moved or opened his eyes. "You have all day to read. Why do you choose to do it now, during the only time when I am afforded some modicum of privacy from you?"

"I miss your classes," she murmured softly. Overtired and overwhelmed by her intense emotions, she was continuing directly on a sentence she had uttered to him at lunch the previous afternoon. "I miss the scents of the potions classroom, I miss listening to your lectures, watching you stalk about the classroom while we brewed-"

"Stop it," he spat, now wide awake. He had shot up into a seated position during her bleary confession and was now regarding her with suspicion and no small measure of anger.

"Stop what?" she asked dumbly, though she knew what he meant.

"Stop... _speaking_ and go to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Of course you are. Look at you. You're exhausted and you don't know what you're talking about, you insipid twit." He turned away as though disgusted by the sight of her.

"Yes, I do," she insisted, ignoring his insults. She got up from her bed and stumbled towards him, her stomach knotted in trepidation of what she did not know she meant to do.

"Granger, get back into your own bed right this instant," he warned her dangerously. When she instead sat on the edge of his bed, he appeared horrified and all but leapt away from her, backing up against the wall behind him. "How _dare_ you disobey me!"

"We're not in school anymore, Professor," she said, her voice sounding low and foreign even to herself. Her body shook minutely with the fear he managed to instill in her but a bravery she had not known she possessed pushed it away and forged on towards its unnamed goal. "It's only you and I here and no one need ever know what happens between us."

"Curse you, foolish girl," he whispered, his eyes glittering uncertainly in the dim light. A long stretch of complete stillness and silence pervaded until she made to move closer to him. As if waking from a dream he sprang into action and strode around the bed, grabbing her painfully by the wrist as he moved and threw her back into her own bed. She struggled to get back up but he pinned her down with a malevolent glare.

"If you move _one inch_ from this bed for the rest of the night, you'll regret it for the rest of your life, however long or short I choose to let that be," he hissed, seemingly satisfied by her petrified expression. He swept away from her and kicked the nightlight out of the wall, plunging them back into blackness. She gasped at the scraping sounds of the wing chair as he dragged it after him to the furthest side of the room before throwing himself onto it. She could verily feel his seething anger, though she heard not a whisper of breath from his direction.

Slowly and with trembling hands, she pulled the sheet around her body, curled up and quietly cried herself to sleep.

* * *

_**Reviews are welcome and helpful. Thanks for reading.**_

_**~SS~**_


	10. Chapter 10

I want to apologize for keeping some of you waiting so long for this update. As an avid reader myself, I understand how frustrating it is to wait for another installment from a story you enjoy, and I do very much appreciate the fact that some of you are truly enjoying this. Thank you for sticking with me; I hope you like this chapter.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sounds of Snape rising and turning on the light, as usual. She kept her head under the blankets and made no move to get up. Memories from the previous night were so fresh in her mind it was as though she hadn't slept at all. A wave of nausea coursed through her empty stomach as she replayed her and Snape's last dialogue. The same tumultuous emotions remained but in the cold light of day they were tempered with fear and an ingrained sense of decorum. Where had she found the nerve to say such things? When had she felt the desire to do them? What is it about the night that changes people so? She fervently wished she could crawl into a dark hole and die.

Certain that the professor was utterly disgusted by her, Hermione imagined she could feel an icy chill radiating from him. Hot tears slid down her cheeks but she would not allow herself to make a sound. She was humiliated enough as it was. The clunking of bowls and cups being placed upon the table let her know that Snape had gone ahead and taken out their breakfast. She sniffled, thinking that was supposed to be her job.

"Well, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, his tone its accustomed even drawl. She lowered the blankets enough so that she could see him. He was sitting at his usual seat before the table, his expression and posture as calm and collected as ever. "Aren't you hungry?"

Hermione eyed him suspiciously for a moment before slowly pulling off her sheets and getting out of bed. He was ignoring her-again, as usual-crunching absently at a piece of jellied toast while he read from one of his texts. She inched over to her place at the table, never taking her eyes off of him. He had been so furious with her the previous night; she couldn't imagine he had simply forgotten what had happened or would be content to just let it lie.

Still watching him, she tentatively began to eat and drink. Before she knew it she had finished her meal and he'd paid her no attention. She had to know if he was still angry with her or the uncertainty would drive her insane. She had nothing else to focus upon.

"Professor?" she queried in a small voice. He met her gaze serenely, his black eyes penetrating her while at the same time giving nothing of himself away. His eyebrows rose in indication for her to continue.

"Are you... upset with me?" She was practically shaking now.

"Why should I be?" His unruffled tone and posture did not indicate that he meant anything other than what he said. Then he sneered, looking down at the crumbs on and around her plate. "Miss Granger, I assumed you possessed better table manners at your age. Be sure to wipe up the mess you've made after you put the dishes away."

And with that, he swept out of his seat and strode over to the wing chair, where he normally settled to read until lunch. Hermione was utterly mystified by his reaction-or lack thereof-to her loaded question. Perhaps he had truly put last night's indiscretion out of his mind. Well, that suited her just fine, and she would endeavor to do the same. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and got up to do as he'd told her.

Several hours later, Hermione lay bonelessly atop her bed, an open book resting on her stomach. She stared at the ceiling, its expansive whiteness the perfect backdrop for her thoughts to play out upon. Already ignoring the order she'd given herself not to do so, she indulged in fantasies of what could have happened last night if the professor hadn't rebuked her. In her mind's eye, he opened his arms to her and she saw herself being encircled in his voluminous black robes. She imagined staring into his stern face as he lowered his thin, white lips to hers. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She had only ever kissed two boys and hadn't gone much further than that with either of them. The knowledge that Professor Snape was an adult male who undoubtedly possessed a great deal more sexual experience than she served to inflame her desire for him further.

She shifted uncomfortably on the bed and turned her head to look at him. He was still seated in the wing chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. He held open the text he was reading with one hand while the other rested on the armrest. A curtain of black hair obscured the majority of his face from Hermione's view; all she could see of it was the great beak of his nose, his sharp chin and tightly pressed mouth. Her heart flipped over in her chest.

Now that she'd had a few hours to consider it, the idea of sweeping last night's incident under the proverbial rug was increasingly unfavorable. She recalled what she'd said to him about them being alone here and that no one else need ever know what happened between them. It still seemed so clear, so simple.

"Miss Granger," Snape intoned unexpectedly, causing her to start and scramble into an upright position. "Forgive me for disturbing your leisure time but I believe lunch should be ready by now. Please go and set it out. And I would like you to eat your entire portion today. You've become disturbingly underweight."

Hermione frowned at him, then looked down at herself. She had all of her life maintained her body at a normal, healthy weight. The only mirror in their cell was the one over the sink in the bathroom and she rarely paid it enough attention to have noticed any changes in her appearance. She ran her hands down her ribcage and clasped them about her slim waistline. Perhaps she did feel somewhat thinner; she began to prod at the various bones that now jutted slightly from beneath her skin.

"Maybe I've only lost a bit of muscle mass. I suppose it's due to lack of proper exercise-"

"Just do as I say and eat every bit of your food. Dwelling on the why's and wherefore's won't solve the problem."

Hermione scoffed openly at him, ignoring the warning glare he fixed upon her.

"Well, isn't that quite convenient? Just look past the reasons and deal neatly with the problem at hand and everything will just sort itself-"

"Miss Granger," he growled between tightly clenched teeth. "I know what you are driving at and, in no matter how circumspect a manner, I _will not_ have this discussion with you."

"Professor-"

"I will not have it!" he roared, the text falling to the floor as he leapt up from his seat. It looked as though fire was about to issue from his nostrils. Hermione dropped her head, effectively cowed into submission.

"I-I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered and moved quickly to the cupboard. As always, Snape had been correct and two small salads, two sandwich halves and two mugs of steaming hot tea were waiting for them inside of it. With shaking hands, Hermione set out the meal one item at a time in order to prolong what would undoubtedly be an uncomfortable lunch in such close proximity to Snape.

* * *

Hermione stared blindly in the direction of Snape's bed, her ears straining to pick up the smallest sounds of him settling upon the sheets and shifting his position. Even though it was black as pitch, she sensed that he was turned away from her.

It was "night" for them again, although she suspected that he'd turned out the lights earlier than usual. She imagined that the tension between them was more taxing for him than he let show. Just because they were sequestered away from the rest of the world together did not mean that his sense of right and wrong would diminish. Even if he possessed no scruples regarding their age difference and her technical status as his student, he may not have responded to her advances simply because he did not fancy her. She was intelligent enough to know that this entire line of thought was absolutely ludicrous and borderline barmy but she wasn't able to place that concern over her obsession with Snape.

As if of their own accord, her hands began to run over the slight curves of her body in a slow and soothing manner. She continued to stare in Snape's direction, imagining he was watching her and her breath quickened. She slipped one hand beneath her underpants and pressed the other over her mouth in order to stifle any sound she might make. She had never done this regularly or even frequently and she almost couldn't believe her own audacity tonight. Her excitement was heightened by the thought of Professor Snape in the next bed, so close to her, so close...

After ten more minutes of increasingly unsatisfying friction, she sighed and ceased her ministrations. Her own hand was just a poor substitute for what she craved. Wanting for all the world to cry out her frustration, she instead rolled over and pulled the bed sheets over her head.

* * *

The following morning was possibly the most uncomfortably awkward the two of them had ever spent together, and that was saying something. She knew that he knew what she'd done the night previous. To someone who hadn't spent every living moment with the man for the past couple of months, his behavior wouldn't seem out of the ordinary but she could sense his discomfiture. His posture was infinitesimally more rigid and he seemed to be making a conscious effort to avoid her eyes as opposed to simply not caring to look at her.

He didn't even ask her to retrieve breakfast, so eventually she took the initiative and did so herself. It was an attractive array of bagels and fruit but she had no appetite and the professor did not even get up from his reading to sit at the table. This was probably because he was disgusted with her, she thought, a lump growing in her throat. Not wanting to waste a good meal, she wrapped up the two multigrain bagels in a cloth napkin and poured one cup of fruit into the other.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked. She jumped, not realizing he had been watching her.

"I'm saving this for later," she replied meekly, turning towards him but unable to look him in the face. "It'd be a shame to waste it."

"And where will you keep it? We've no proper way to store food here."

"I'll keep it on the table. I'll probably want to eat it soon, I'm just not hungry now."

"If you eat it later, you won't be able to eat your lunch, and then that will be wasted as well. If you don't eat it at all, it will begin to rot and we'll have no way to rid ourselves of the smell."

"I... I was..." Hermione stammered. She wasn't prepared for an interrogation over such a simple issue. He had an answer for everything and she was becoming frustrated. "Why do you have to argue about this?"

He fixed her with a dry expression, seemingly designed to make her feel small and insignificant. It was quite effective but she forced herself to keep eye contact with him.

"Why can't you control yourself?" he asked in a pointed tone. Her eyes widened and she felt chilled as the blood drained from her face. She couldn't believe he would humiliate her by alluding to what she'd done last night. There was no question now that he knew.

"Why do you have to be such a bastard?!" she yelled and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Once inside she sat down hard atop the toilet seat, pulled her knees up and buried her head in her arms. Despite her intense humiliation and anger, she refused to cry. She counted her haggard breaths in an effort to calm herself.

Although she was upset with him, she still wished that he would come after her to apologize but she wasn't so deluded as to believe that he would. And he didn't. He went nowhere near the bathroom during the couple of hours or so she remained in there, sitting motionless and staring straight ahead of her, doing her best not to think of anything.

Finally her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything all day. She decided to brave Snape's presence, hoping he wouldn't comment on her admittedly childish disappearing act. Rising to her full height and forcing an unperturbed expression, she exited the bathroom with her head high. To her relief, the professor had remained in his chair and did not even look up from his reading. Ignoring him as well after a cursory glance his way, Hermione strode over to the table and sat down in her usual seat. Noticing that he had not put their breakfast in the cupboard she unwrapped the two bagels, placed the cup of fruit in front of her and began to eat.

"As I told you before, Miss Granger, if you eat that now, you won't want to eat your lunch when it comes," Snape intoned superciliously. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists, willing herself not to lose her temper. After a moment she turned to face him, knowing her eyes belied her fury.

"Professor, I don't care," she answered in a measured tone, then whipped her head away from him. A corner of her mouth quirked upwards victoriously as the ghost of a frustrated grunt issued from his direction. She could sense that he was itching to say more but knew that he'd feel foolish to be the one to continue the discussion.

An hour spent reading-Hermione seated on her bed, Snape in the wing chair-in complete silence passed them by when Snape took it upon himself to check the cupboard for lunch. This rankled Hermione as, again, that was supposed to be her job. It was a silly thing to hold on to but it was one of the few responsibilities she had and she used it to break up the monotony of their daily lives in this prison.

This time, Snape brought out both meals and dumped hers unceremoniously at her place. He sat down but did not eat, instead waiting expectantly, she knew, for her to join him at the table. Hermione sighed aloud; she could sense where this was going. Determined to ignore him, she rose her book higher so that it covered her face from his view.

"Miss Granger, come over here and eat your lunch," he ordered her, his voice soft and low. It was a dangerous tone he had tended to use in class to compel a student to obey him through fear. While Hermione was feeling its skin-prickling and blood-draining effects, she stoically remained where she was, keeping her eyes locked on her book although she could not see the prose.

"I'm not hungry," she answered petulantly, hoping he hadn't detected the slight quaver in her voice. He dropped a piece of silverware loudly on the table and she started but forced herself to keep her eyes on her book.

"I told you-"

"And I told _you_ that I'm not hungry," she interrupted his growled warning, at last meeting his gaze. His face was pinched tightly and whiter than usual, his black eyes glinting stonily. Hermione had never shown such disrespect towards an authority figure in her entire life; she felt nauseated by surges of guilt and elation that she'd never before experienced simultaneously.

For his part, Professor Snape looked as though he were about to spontaneously combust with rage. His left eyelid was twitching. She'd only seen that happen when a peer blew up a cauldron in class. She, normally one of his more obedient students, had not only disobeyed him but had interrupted him and addressed him in a discourteous manner. His lips quirked as though he were about to say something but he pressed them firmly shut. He looked down at his plate for a second-during which she almost allowed herself to sigh with relief at this possible reprieve-and then shot up from his seat and strode over to her with purposeful speed. She lost all composure and made to scramble off of her bed and away from him but he was too quick. His hand closed around the scruff of her blouse and he used it to drag her behind him back to the table. She continued to struggle but he was infinitely stronger than she and somehow managed to enclose both of her flailing arms in one of his hands as he pushed her down hard into her seat.

After several failed attempts to free herself from his iron grasp, Hermione resigned herself to her fate and released the tension from her limbs. Eyes wide with abject horror, she looked up into the face of her professor which, to her surprise, was completely composed, if not a little smug. He moved his face closer to hers so slowly that she hadn't registered the motion until they were inches apart.

"Now," he commanded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Eat. Your. Lunch. Miss Granger."

Hermione glared daggers into his eyes but when he let go of her wrists, she picked up her fork and began to eat with great deliberation. His eyes never left her as he gradually loosened his grip on her shirt and inched backwards to his own place across from her. There was a split second when he had fully seated himself that she considered making an escape to the bathroom but the sharp warning in his eyes let her know that he was well aware of her plan and was fully prepared to thwart it.

Hermione's emotions were reduced to an almost primal fury that was guarded only by fear of her captor. She was unable to form any clear thoughts and she was devoid of the desire to do so. She methodically finished the rest of her meal without tasting a single bite of it.


	11. Chapter 11

Over the next few days, Hermione and Snape's relationship was untenable. He would not speak to her unless it was to issue a command-often, in Hermione's perspective, an overtly controlling one-and she was too despondent to fight him over it. She did everything he asked without comment or complaint: she made the beds each morning, retrieved and cleared meals, ate every bit of her food when it was served and even washed out the bathroom sink with soap and water. The latter task was vaguely reminiscent of the punishments he would dole out during detentions. He'd told her to do it dubiously as though he hadn't expected her to comply but she had, without so much as an indignant glance in his direction.

She knew he was baffled at her unquestioning complicity and she took a perverse pleasure in this. There were many times during the day that she could sense him staring at her, knowing that if she met his eyes she would find them narrowed in contemplation. Although she felt depressed and beaten down from being locked in a room with a man who despised her, Hermione's fiery spirit was not completely extinguished. She was hoping that Snape's curiosity would ultimately win out and he would speak to her like a human being again. It was the only hope she could cling to now that nothing else in her life was remotely certain.

* * *

Dinner had arrived late that evening. Hermione wondered if something had happened to Lucius, as he had always served them their food at approximately the same times each day. She wanted to express her concerns to Snape but it had been so long since they'd communicated easily that she found herself unable to mention it to him. Instead she concentrated on eating her cream of mushroom soup which, although tepid, was quite palatable.

"Granger," Snape growled, dropping his spoon in his half-empty bowl. "I demand that you cease that disgusting slurping. It is causing me to lose my appetite."

Hermione's hackles rose at the derisive comment. She had not previously allowed herself to react to any of the barbs he so carelessly tossed her way but this was the final straw. Anger had been boiling in her blood over the past few days and it grew hotter with each passing hour of enduring his cruelty. She met his eyes directly and felt empowered by the expression of surprise he let slip for a second. Without losing eye contact, she brought her spoon to her lips and slurped the creamy liquid from it noisily.

Snape's eyes flashed with fury and he was at her side so quickly it seemed he'd Apparated there from his seat. He tore the spoon from her lips and tossed it aside without care, then slammed her hands down on the table at either side of her bowl. Silence descended upon the room with an eerie stillness as he seemed to be attempting to calm himself with measured breaths. Hermione did her best to stop herself from shaking but she knew that he could feel it. His forearms pressed against the lengths of hers and only the back of the chair stood between his chest and her shoulders. She wondered if he had realized this at the same time as she, for at that moment he went completely still. Only the faint gusts of air ruffling a lock of hair at the left side of her head gave evidence that he was still breathing.

After an indeterminable amount of time had passed he seemed to regain locomotion and his arms tightened against hers imperceptibly. His head lowered ever so slightly so that it was inches away from her hair. She heard his soft intake of breath in the stark silence of the room; he seemed to be breathing in her scent. Her eyes widened, her heart swelled and she gasped in surprise without thinking. The sound must have startled him for he immediately drew away from her, leaving her body cold where he'd touched it.

Hermione slowly brought her hands down to rest in her lap and dared to look over at her professor. He was standing awkwardly-an adjective she had never before associated with the precise and confident man-in the middle of the room, his expression muddled with confusion as he looked into her face. She almost pitied him then, knowing that he must be feeling shame and even revulsion, the possibility of which did not offend her. She understood the importance he placed upon the line between teachers and students.

"Don't look at me that way, Miss Granger," Snape hissed, his lip curling upwards. "You cannot possibly know..."

He scoffed, turning away from her abruptly and stalked over to the easy chair. Thrusting a book in front of his face, he remained that way for the rest of the evening.

* * *

That night, they waited until long past their accustomed bed time to ready themselves for sleep. Hermione had been reading the same text over and over without really registering the words on the pages. She wanted so badly to discuss what had happened at dinner but knew that Snape would either react with anger or completely shut himself off to her. The latter prospect would be unbearable.

She was still reeling from the aftershocks of the electrified connection they'd shared and she didn't believe those feelings had only existed in her head. If that were true Snape wouldn't be ignoring her so purposefully now. She had come to believe that his discomfiture stemmed from unwanted emotions.

Suddenly, the professor rose from his seat and walked quickly into the bathroom. He didn't slam the door after him, as was his usual custom. Hermione got the impression that he did not want to draw her attention. She wondered what he was thinking as she listened to the sounds of the taps turning on and off and then a long period of silence. Perhaps it was her imagination but he seemed to be stalling.

At long last he emerged, immediately locking eyes with Hermione, who started and diffidently averted her gaze at once. He stalked purposefully to his bed, refraining from mocking her reaction. That was not like him, Hermione thought. She opened her mouth to speak without knowing what to say but he spoke first.

"Miss Granger, I suggest that you do... whatever it is you do at night before going to bed because I am going to shut off the light in a few moments."

She only nodded in response, obeying him at once. They had few resources available to them, so her nightly routine consisted of washing her face, rinsing her mouth with hot water and removing as much clothing as was proper in order to be more comfortable in bed. Today she had on grey stockings and a belted ivory jumper. She took off her shoes, stockings and unclasped the belt before performing her nightly ritual at the sink. Her heart rate increased incrementally as she recalled the memory of Snape standing behind her chair, his face inches from hers. She wondered if she had turned around to face him, would he have kissed her? The thought both frightened and excited her.

Hermione took in a deep, steadying breath before exiting the bathroom, clutching the bundle of her shed clothing to her chest. On the way to bed she thrust them into the cupboard, knowing that Malfoy would have a fresh set for her to wear in the morning. The professor had only removed his shoes, choosing, as always, to sleep fully clothed. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes fixed upon his crossed arms. Hermione had to stop herself from grinning; though he attempted to appear stern, the tiny crease between his brows and the whiteness of his already pallid complexion gave away his unease. The thought that she-a slight, 18-year-old girl-could make the fearless Potions Master nervous was humorously empowering.

The moment she slipped into bed Snape closed the light, at once engulfing them in blackness. Hermione lay back against her pillow and listened to the professor settling into his own bed. He sucked in an uneven breath, the sound of which caused Hermione's stomach to twist in a strange mixture of arousal, hope and anticipation.

"Professor," she whispered without thinking, not having any words planned to follow his title. He said nothing but she could hear him rise into a seated position on his bed. She could feel his eyes upon her in the darkness.

Mindlessly, she rose and crossed the short distance to Snape's bed, allowing her hands to guide her into it. She knelt directly in front of him, her eyes closed even though she would not have seen anything with them open. His body was so tense she could feel it in her own bones, but with a boldness she was not aware she possessed she reached out and felt her hands meet with his shoulders. He started but did not move away from her.

She leaned closer to him, the warmth of his breath telling her their faces were mere inches apart. She felt him stiffen under her fingers so she took the initiative and pressed her lips firmly against his. He kissed her back even as his body recoiled from hers.


	12. Chapter 12

It had ended far too quickly for Hermione's satisfaction. She and Snape had kissed passionately for at best a full moment before his senses returned and he'd pushed her away. She reached for him but he had moved out of her arms' length and she fell prone upon his bed, stifling a frustrated groan against the sheets. They smelt of his robes, an earthy, herbal scent that clung to him even though he hadn't dabbled in otions making of any kind during their captivity.

His sharp footsteps rang out against the concrete floor and were abruptly cut off by the washroom door slamming. Hermione's heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest with exhilaration; she counted her breaths in order to calm down. One... in... two... out... three... in... four... out... five...

She pushed her now exhausted body into a seated position on Snape's bed, her shoulders slumped, elbows resting over her knees. She hadn't kissed a boy-they had been boys in the past-in over a year. She and her peers had been so focused on the war and on keeping themselves safe and alive that they'd had little time to dally in romantic adventures. Although, now that she was considering it, her friends had managed to find time for them here and there. Memories of Harry and Ginny holding hands or sneaking kisses, of Ron and Lavender rushing off to be alone together reminded her that she'd always felt left out in that aspect of life.

In any case, Snape was not a boy, not her friend or her peer. The few kisses she had experienced in the past were light and tentative, sweet and soft. When Snape had kissed her just now his mouth had been hot and firm, pressing against hers so fiercely she had to push back against him just to keep her head in alignment. His teeth had scraped against hers once and one of his incisors had bruised her lower lip. She rubbed at it now with her fingers; it ached. His hands had been wrapped around her biceps as though to hold her near to but just away from his body and she imagined that her arms may be bruised as well. Snape's kiss had been hard and passionate to the point of nearly being desperate. It had both frightened and excited her. She had never felt this way before; it was as though there was a pit of lust and fear pulsating in her stomach that was uncomfortable and strangely addicting.

She sighed, wondering if Snape was ever going to exit the washroom again. Wondering if he would ever even look at her again. Hoping fervently that he would suddenly burst through the door and resume where they had left off. With these thoughts she lay back against the pillow and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Hermione was rudely awoken by a hand roughly shaking her shoulder. She sat up straight and attempted to focus her bleary eyes on Snape, who was standing beside the bed. For a delirious moment she thought he had woken her in such an urgent manner because he couldn't wait any longer to discuss what had transpired between them the night previous or perhaps to continue it. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she noticed Lucius Malfoy standing in the center of the room. Without thinking, she let out a squeal and pulled the bed sheets around her body.

Malfoy's eyes glinted as he scoffed at her reaction. He appeared tired and rather worn, the way he had looked the last time he'd visited them, but that didn't diminish the air of haughty superiority that clung to him.

"Go into the washroom, Miss Granger," Snape commanded her. She was so confused and frightened all she could do was stare up at him and tremble. "This instant!"

"Now, now, Severus, that's unnecessary." Malfoy focused his attention back to Hermione. "So sorry to have surprised you, Miss Granger," he drawled imperiously. "You may as well go back to sleep, or at least pretend to. My business here is not with you but whether you're sequestered away in the washroom or not you'll hear it, given our close quarters and frankly, it matters not."

Snape snorted grudgingly and moved to the front of her bed, allowing his flowing robes to obscure her from Malfoy's view and vice versa. Hermione laid back down and pulled the sheets over her head but of course did not even attempt to return to sleep.

"Well?" Snape barked. "You've not sent me any notes for over a week and then you just show up here completely without warning at what I'm sure is an ungodly hour of the morning!"

Hermione swallowed hard; she had not realized that Malfoy had been sending Snape personal notes. She had no idea how this could have been accomplished as she was the one who retrieved everything from the magical cupboard and she'd never seen any notes marked for Snape. Perhaps they'd been hidden in the texts Malfoy consistently provided to him?

"Do forgive me, Severus, but as I'm sure you can understand I've been otherwise occupied with this bloody war!" Malfoy all but shouted, then heaved a long-suffering sigh before sitting heavily in the armchair. All was deathly quiet for a long moment. Hermione had never heard Malfoy raise his voice in such a way and she imagined Snape was likewise surprised at the outburst.

"Who's dead?" Snape finally asked in a quiet monotone. Hermione wondered if he were so used to asking the question that the answers no longer phased him.

"Astor," Malfoy sighed. Hermione may have been imagining it but she thought she saw Snape startle slightly from behind the white bed sheets that obscured her vision. "I'm sure you can imagine what a loss this is to our side, Severus. His knowledge in Potions making and the Dark Arts nearly surpassed your own."

"How did it happen?" Snape asked quietly.

Malfoy scoffed and swigged loudly from what sounded like a metal flask.

"Bloody blitz attack by a couple of Aurors when he was going through your supplies at Hogwarts."

"What was he looking for?" Snape asked quickly, urgently. Malfoy chuckled darkly.

"Severus, you know what he was looking for."

"You dastard... After I had explained the danger of it to you I had hoped that you'd tell him to give it up-"

"Oh, Severus," Malfoy clucked, his tone patronizing. "You know nothing I or even you could say would have made any difference once his mind was set on something. Why bother getting all riled up about it? We're all going to be fucking dead soon as well, one way or the other."

Silence descended upon the room again, disturbed only by the intermittent sloshing sounds of Malfoy taking long drinks from his flask.

"Well, if you've nothing useful or inspiring to say, Severus, I'll take my leave of you."

Snape didn't answer and Malfoy made good on his word with a loud 'crack'.

* * *

It had taken all of Hermione's willpower to avoid asking Snape about what he and Malfoy had spoken of earlier that morning. All thoughts of what had transpired between herself and Snape the night before had been placed on the proverbial back burner. They had received their breakfast about an hour later than usual and neither had eaten much before Hermione placed both of their meals back into the cupboard.

Snape stalked over to the armchair to reread one of his potions texts while Hermione halfheartedly washed and dressed in the bathroom. The water hitting her face revitalized her somewhat and when she returned to the common room she felt more like her inquisitive, brave self. She wanted answers about whoever Astor was and what he was doing for the Dark Lord and she wanted to talk about she and her Professor's tenuous relationship. She moved with purpose to sit down on his bed opposite him in the wing chair. She could see his fingers tighten around the pages of his book and the crease between his eyebrows harden but he refused to acknowledge her.

Her lips thinned in frustration and she reached out to him without thinking. He completely came alive at this, throwing the book to the floor and freezing her body with an icy, furious expression.

"Don't you ever touch me again, Miss Granger," he growled. "Don't you ever."

Instead of his words cowing her as they likely would have done in the past they only made her angry now. She sneered, the expression worthy of his own and she could sense his reserve failing for a split second.

"You can't tell me what to do, Professor Snape," she bit out the title, using it out of a grudging sense of respect for him. "Not here, and you know it. I won't touch you again but don't be so foolish as to pretend that you don't want me to."

Snape's eyes widened at her words, white hot fury curling his hands into tight fists as he fought for his composure. They both knew he could wring her neck right now and, as she had suggested, there was nothing anyone could or would do about it here.

"Well? Go ahead. Slap me," she dared him. Her voice shook but she was at the point of no return now. Backing down would, in her mind, make her a coward. "Hit me. Choke me. Fuck me. It doesn't matter anymore. Like Malfoy said..."

Snape made to get up out of his chair and she stood up as well, blocking his way, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Like Malfoy said," she continued. "We're all going to be dead soon, anyway."

For whatever reason Snape visibly relaxed at those words, dropping his guard enough to sit back down. She mirrored his actions and resumed her seat upon his bed. To her surprise he scoffed, a sound that would have resembled a chuckle were it not so bitter. It encouraged her but she proceeded with caution in both her tone and demeanor.

"Who was Astor?" she asked gently, remembering the man who had died and feeling that this was a safer topic of discussion than their relationship at this time. Snape waited a long moment to answer her.

"Emory Astor was a former pupil of mine who had turned to the dark. He was a brilliant boy who completely wasted his considerable intelligence and talent on empty promises of power and purity. Before you and I had been caught I had been considerably close to turning him back to the light. His story is like so many others before him and now but there was something good inside of him that begged to be recognized and redeemed. He fought with it harder than many of the others. Much in the way that I..."

Hermione waited a long time for him to continue but he did not. He merely sat, slightly slumped, his elbows on his knees and his head downturned. To see such a willfully strong and powerful man look so nearly defeated pulled at Hermione's heart. She took yet another risk and placed her hands gently atop his. He started minutely but did not make any motion to push her away.

"I told you never to touch me again, Miss Granger." His soft tone suggested that the words meant nothing.

"I know you did, Professor. Tell me to stop and I will," she said gently.

His face slowly turned upwards, his dark eyes meeting intensely with her warm brown ones.

"I don't know if I can anymore."

She let out a relieved sigh and let her fingers wrap fully around his hands. Very slowly, he mimicked the gesture. It was shaky and almost clumsy, as though he had never held anyone's hands in this way before. So they remained, saying nothing, eyes focused on their joined hands, until hunger reminded them that lunch was likely ready for them in the cupboard.


	13. Chapter 13

That night, Snape had allowed Hermione into his bed without protest. As soon as he put the light out she went to him and he moved his body aside to accommodate hers. She had reached for his face, wanting to bring it down to meet hers but he had gently moved her hand away and held it securely atop his chest. She laid her head beside their hands and after a few long, blissful moments she fell asleep to the steady beating of his heart in her ear. The following day, she woke to the sounds of Snape setting out their breakfast. She immediately went to him with her arms outstretched but he turned away from her. She spent that day in silent confusion and despondency while he behaved as he normally did: austere, cold, formal. It was to her great surprise and pleasure that just after closing the light he whispered, "Come," and she complied at once.

The cardinal rule for Professor Snape to allow her such familiarity with him was thereafter apparent to Hermione: that during the days, they were to behave properly and politely as professor and student. But each night their relationship was swiftly progressing to increasingly intimate levels.

* * *

"Se-ver-us," Hermione pronounced his given name aloud for the first time, testing it on her tongue. She felt his bicep tense against her shoulder in the darkness. "May I call you that?"

He said nothing back to her but his physical tension spoke of uncertainty. He gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead, leaving his long fingers tangled in the curls at the base of her head. He would never speak to her during the nights and, knowing this, she rarely spoke to him after the light went out.

"I can't go on calling you 'Professor', can I? Aside from it sounding a bit vulgar now, it's as though you aren't the same person that I used to call 'Professor Snape'-"

He rolled onto his elbow and silenced her with a firm, chaste kiss. Before he could break it, Hermione wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her tongue against his thin lips. She felt his breath hitch in his throat as his tongue met hers and then began to savagely explore her mouth. She delighted in his need to always be a step ahead of her. As she wantonly pressed her body along his, she felt something jab sharply into her lower abdomen. He cut off a strangled moan and roughly pushed her away from him. Understanding what had happened and wanting him to know she wasn't intimidated, she opened her mouth to express it but he rushed off to the washroom and slammed the door behind him. Hermione forced herself to remain in the bed. She sat up and brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin upon them. She waited an interminable amount of time, her unseeing eyes fixated in the direction of the washroom. Whatever he was doing in there, he made not a sound. At last, she heard the doorknob twist open and his sure, even footsteps approaching. He stopped just short of the bed, his heavy robes audibly settling about his body.

"Can you see me?" she asked timidly after a long, silent moment had passed between them.

"No, but I know you're there," he said simply, meaningfully. She felt his fingers run softly through her hair and she leant her head into his palm, her heart pounding painfully against her chest.

* * *

Hermione stared hard at her professor as he sat reading, her own book lying forgotten across her lap. He was still as a statue, save the small movements of a forefinger turning the pages every few moments and his eyes sliding back and forth as he read. A natural smile spread across her face; he had become so endeared to her. He was her one source of stability, comfort and strength. He was everything to her now. Suddenly his eyes flicked up to meet hers, their intensity sending her heartbeat racing. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to reprimand her for staring.

"Will you read to me?" Hermione asked thoughtlessly, craving the soothing sound of his sonorous voice. She had grown increasingly bold and unafraid of him of late. The scowl he was currently directing at her didn't even wipe the smile from her lips.

"Have you forgotten how to read for yourself?" he asked irritably. "You must continue to exercise your brain every day lest it become sluggish."

"May I at least sit beside you?"

Without waiting for his answer she rose from her seat at the table and stepped over to his bed which was located behind the wing chair he was seated upon. Seemingly struck dumb, he glared at her from behind suspiciously slitted lids. Instead of seating herself on the edge of the bed, she chose to sit upon an arm of his chair, leaning against his right shoulder. Her chin was at the level of the top of his head. She found herself struck by the inky blackness of his hair and shamelessly bowed her head to inhale the scent of it. Quick as lightning, he firmly grabbed her right wrist and pulled her down so that they were at eye level, at the same time recoiling as far as he possibly could from her in the chair.

"Miss Granger! Your behavior is unacceptable at this time," he admonished her, stressing the last three words. She understood the reminder of his unspoken caveat but was frustrated all the same.

"But _Professor_, I don't understand why-"

"Hermione." Her given name on his lips immediately silenced her protestations. Although he was angry, the sound of it in his voice was beautiful. "I beseech you to do as I say. Go back to your seat and resume your reading. Now."

She rose from his chair mechanically and returned to her seat at the table, finding herself unable to directly defy Professor Snape. Although it was barely detectable, especially to one less familiar with him, there had been a desperate edge to his voice that she'd never heard before. As if he feared her disobedience.

That night, he did not ask her to come to him and after pouting, tossing and turning in her bed for an hour or so Hermione fell into a restless sleep. Several hours later she woke to Snape roughly shaking her by the shoulders. Her body and nightshirt were completely drenched in cold sweat.

"Se-Severus?" she gasped, blinking helplessly into the pitch black of the cell. He let out a sharp sigh and loosened his grip on her without letting her go. "Is it you?"

"You were having a nightmare," he told her calmly. "You were screaming."

Suddenly the dream flooded her mind, assaulting it with violent images of Snape dying at Voldemort's bloodthirsty claws. Sobs accompanied the hot tears already streaming down her face and she threw herself against his chest, clutching onto him as if for dear life.

"I dreamt you died," she managed to choke out. She felt his posture relax and he began to gently stroke her back which inexplicably made her cry harder. "Oh, God, Severus, I dreamt you died. It was awful, it was so real... Promise me you'll never leave me, promise me! I need you!"

A long moment passed during which only the sounds of her sobs filled the silence of the room. Hermione realized that he had stopped stroking her, that his body had gone motionless and slack.

"Why... what's wrong, Severus?" He said nothing and she sat up straight, feeling about his chest and arms. "What's the matter?"

Suddenly he grasped her hands and held them apart from his body, causing her breath to catch in her throat with surprise. His grip was so firm it was almost painful; his own breath had quickened and become shallow.

"Severus-"

"No one else was supposed to... I never expected to again..." His voice was a jagged whisper. He inhaled a long, shuddering breath, attempting to compose himself. "I never wanted you to see me this way, Hermione. I never wanted anyone to see me..."

He fell silent, allowing the sentence to hang in the charged air between them. At last, Hermione moved to kiss him softly on the forehead, feeling the sharp creases in his brow smooth out beneath her lips. With great care she guided their bodies back against her pillow, the two facing each other, their hands remaining intertwined even as sleep overtook them both into its fathomless black embrace.


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione was, to say the least, surprised to discover a bottle of fine, aged Merlot sitting in the cupboard when she opened it at dinnertime. She gripped it by the neck and wordlessly displayed it for Professor Snape, who sat at the table awaiting his meal.

"Why on earth would he-"

"Give it here, Miss Granger," Snape commanded, rising quickly from his seat.

He plucked the bottle from her hand and scrutinized it carefully, perhaps checking it over for signs of dark magic. Something on the back of the label caught his eye; Malfoy had apparently scrawled a brief note over it. Hermione could recognize his signature but wasn't able to read it from where she stood. Snape's expression darkened and he let loose with a bitter scoff, placing the bottle down hard on the table.

"What does it say, sir?" Hermione asked, concerned. Snape resumed his seat heavily, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"See for yourself," he muttered, turning his face from her.

Baffled by his behavior but satisfied that the wine presented no danger, she gingerly picked it back up.

"..._Bon anniversaire, mon ami... __Enjoy, Lucius_," Hermione read aloud. She had begun to take French in school the year before being recruited into Hogwarts and it took her a moment to translate the message. "...Oh! It's your birthday!"

The professor 'harumphed' and rolled his eyes, still refusing to look her way. Hermione grinned widely, determining to celebrate him despite his reticence. She imagined that before this moment he'd had no idea what day it was, given that they'd no way of keeping track of the date.

"Why, happy birthday, Professor! Let's have a glass with dinner, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer and, of course, not receiving one, she immediately went about setting the table with the long-stemmed wine glasses and their meals, which consisted of poached salmon accompanied by boiled fingerling potatoes and small caesar salads. She poured his Merlot first, filling the glass to the brim so that a few drops spilled over the edge.

"Be careful, Miss Granger!" Snape admonished, flattening a hand over his glass. He frowned at her giggled "Oops", watching as she filled up her own glass almost as high. "This isn't juice, silly girl. I don't intend to drink any of it and you shouldn't either. I doubt you've ever so much as imbibed a butterbeer, let alone-"

"Yes, I have," she answered petulantly. Snape looked into her face then, scrutinizing her pointedly.

"Oh? At what time and with whom?" he quested, his tone deceptively soft.

Hermione immediately regretted the admission. In truth she'd only gotten drunk once, last New Year's Eve with Ron and Harry in the Common Room. The two had teased her about her reticence to indulge in the Firewhiskey they'd smuggled in, calling her "prim and proper". To prove them wrong she'd swigged half the bottle and paid for her pride that night and the next morning with the worst bout of vomiting she'd ever had, and a splitting headache to boot. It was not her proudest anecdote and she wasn't interested in sharing it with anyone, let alone Snape.

"I've only had a butterbeer every now and again with the boys-Ron and Harry, that is," she stammered, blushing under his inspection. Then she smiled broadly, raising her glass for a toast. "To your health, Professor!"

"Hmm," he murmured disapprovingly, but lifted his glass to meet hers. He didn't take his eyes off of her face as he brought the wine to his lips.

* * *

"-And it doesn't take a genius to comprehend that Wanderley was demoted from chaser to beater, not due to lack of skill but so that the coach's son could get a good starting placement on the team!"

Hermione shook her head, listening with rapt fascination to Snape's every word. He was pacing back and forth before the bed on which she now sat cross-legged, gesticulating animatedly as he spoke. They'd each had a few glasses of wine with dinner, so much so that the bottle was nearly empty. Knowing that they were both a bit tipsy, Hermione forgave Snape's passionate verbal treatise on the highs and lows of the lengthy career of the Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons and forgave herself her sudden newfound interest in the sport. Never before had it been explained to her so clearly, so simply. What a wonderful game... And what a wonderful surprise birthday party.

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione and Snape sat across from one another on her bed, he at the edge with his feet on the floor and she in the center with her legs tucked underneath her. Their conversation had turned from international Quidditch teams to Hogwarts Quidditch teams, from Hogwarts traditions to non-magical schooling, from Wizarding values to Muggle ethics, slowing down as their throats grew dry and they began to tire. They each held their final glasses of wine, Snape's already empty as Hermione finished hers in a gulp, tipping it all the way back so as to receive every last drop. Dizzy already, she fell back onto the bed, laughing as she stretched out her hands, fingers searching.

"Help me, Severus, I can't get up."

He took one of her hands and easily pulled her into a seated position, so close to him she could lay her head on his shoulder. Looking up into his face, she found his eyes already on hers. She dimly realized that she'd never before called him by his first name during the day, when the light was on. He hadn't reprimanded her for doing so. Her focus wavered and lowered to their hands, which were clasped against his chest, before rising back up to meet his gaze.

"Severus..." she whispered into the still air, daring to inch closer to him, her breath ghosting onto his face before she delicately pressed her mouth against his.

For a long moment he remained still but just as she had been about to part from him his lips began to move. Their kiss was slow, tentative, sensual. A ball of fire erupted in her chest and spread out to her stomach and limbs, leaving her body tingling with warmth. Her breath quickened along with her heartbeat and at last she reluctantly pulled away from him, struck with the need to obtain his approval before she took any further liberties. Thus far he had only allowed her to kiss him; any time her hands wandered below his shoulders he would either hold them away from his body or worse, remove himself from her entirely. If he were to decide she'd gone too far and stop her, she knew she'd spend the night writhing in an agony of frustration.

"Professor," she spoke his title reverently but with an edge of yearning in her tone that caused his breath to hitch and his grip on her hand to tighten. "May I have your permission to touch you?"

His eyes were solemn but resolute as they locked onto hers. He inhaled a long breath through his nose and parted his lips slowly on the exhale.

"I will permit it." His depthless voice resonated exquisitely throughout the core of her body. He snapped his fingers and with that bit of wordless magic, the light went out and left them blind in the room's blackness.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's note: Hello, faithful readers and welcome to you newcomers. I want to apologize to the former for how long it has taken me to write and publish this chapter. My inspiration tends to come in bursts and is greatly effected by the circumstances of my life. I thank all those who have stuck by me through my intermittent installments and hope that you will continue to do so in the future. I am always very happy to receive any review and I do read and consider each and every one. Please keep reading and letting me know your thoughts on my work.

This chapter in particular was difficult to write as, although I am not embarrassed by sexual situations, I am a perfectionist when it comes to writing them and so they often take me longer to publish. This chapter will be short because I want to let it sit on its own. Know that I'm working on its follow-up.

Again, I thank you and please, read on.

* * *

The sound of labored breathing filled the room. It took Hermione a moment to recognize it as her own. Snape was silent but she could feel his chest rising and falling heavily beneath her hands. A heated sensation raced through her body, pooling and intensifying just beneath her stomach. Perhaps it was an effect of the wine but she felt no fear or hesitation, allowing her hands to roam bravely over the taut expanse of his chest, around his firm shoulders, down his arms and back up again to cup his face and guide it to meet hers.

Hermione almost jumped when she felt his hands snake down her back and clasp boldly about her waist. Snape had never before touched her anywhere below the neck. She was exhilarated, almost losing her breath into his mouth. Braver than ever, she clumsily sat astride his lap and attempted to guide his body back onto the bed. His muscles tensed and for a horrifying second she thought he would push her away but he surprised her by grabbing her wrists with the faintest hint of violence and forcing her back against the pillow. As if in admonishment, he nipped her left earlobe hard enough to make her cry out.

He froze in place at the sound of her voice, his body pressed against hers from chest to foot. She could feel his heart thudding against her own, its pace racing to match the speed of his. Wanting badly for him to continue on, she arched her hips up into his, thrilling at the almost frightening pressure of his erection against her thigh. A low growl sounded from deep in his throat and he rose up onto his knees, opening his robes and throwing their bulk to either side of him. She heard his fingers desperately working to undo his belt and she reached out to help him. The second her hands touched his he hissed as if burned, grabbing both of her wrists in one hand and placing them firmly over her head, holding them there. With his other hand, he continued the work of freeing himself from his trousers, a sharp exhalation telling her he had succeeded.

Dimly thinking she should protest being physically restrained, Hermione's alcohol-fueled lust overrode her senses, her only clear thought being that she would at last lose her virginity, to an older man and Professor at that. None of her friends could tease her again for being prudish after this. She released the tension in her legs, not allowing them to fall open but readying herself for his imminent arrival. Keeping her wrists firmly imprisoned he leaned towards her, one knee insinuating itself between her thighs while resting his cheek against the left side of her neck. It was at that moment that the fear of the child in her grasped the willing heart of the woman whose body she now inhabited. Ice water sluiced through the hot blood in her veins and although the room was pitch black, she squeezed her eyes shut.

It took a few moments of silence for Hermione to realize that he had not made any move to change his position. His body was tense, his breath coming in hot bursts against her neck. His right arm moving in a fast rhythm gently shook the bed and with a heated blush she realized that he was masturbating, holding his body just above hers. Now that it was clear he wasn't planning to have sex with her, she felt both relief and disappointment at once. She opened her eyes, wishing that there was enough light to allow her to see him. Knowing that she was the fuel of his fire recreated her sexual excitement and she gently attempted to extricate her wrists from his loosening grip. He grunted into her ear and tightened his grasp so that it almost hurt. This excited her and she moaned softly into the air, smiling to herself as she heard his breath hitch in his throat. She struggled again to free her hands, knowing he wouldn't allow it and again deriving pleasure when he exerted his control.

"Severus..." His name on her lips was an unformed question, a longing desire.

"Hold still," Snape hissed, his voice harshened by need.

His entire body stiffened for a second, he grunted and Hermione gasped softly upon feeling the lap of her skirt become drenched by warm liquid. Snape collapsed onto the bed beside her, his back to her as he labored to catch his breath. Hermione did the same, feeling almost as though she had also experienced completion. After a few moments she stretched and turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and resting her forehead against his back. His breathing evened and slowed, finally quieting completely and as the moments wore on, Hermione felt his body become increasingly stiff until he sat up and rose from the bed. She moved to a sitting position, listening as he fastened his trousers and adjusted his robes. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Her-Miss... Hermione, I think I shall retire for the evening." His voice was soft, perhaps even a bit bashful. It felt as though he were searching for more to say but he apparently gave up, walking to the bathroom and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione wanted to wait for him to reemerge, to tell him he had nothing to be self-conscious about and that she had enjoyed his attentions but the lateness of the hour along with the blurred haze of the wine overruled her plans and forced her into a sound sleep.


End file.
